


All The Little Lights

by Hannyski



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Character Death, Drug Use, M/M, Touring, modest are douchebags
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-12
Updated: 2014-02-20
Packaged: 2017-12-08 07:35:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 27,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/758782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hannyski/pseuds/Hannyski
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Where do you go? When the shows are over and we all head home to our family and our beds? Where do you go, Zayn? You’re just… off the grid.” Harry’s voice is heavy with genuine concern.  Zayn can feel it, coating him like a syrupy sweet blanket. Zayn considers letting him in for a second, before setting his mouth in a hard line.</p>
<p>“Out.” He says, closing the door, closing the topic. He leans his forehead against it for a moment before reaching for the door handle. “Harry?” he calls after Harry’s retreating back. “…do you really want to find out?”</p>
<p>Harry bounds into the room on his impossibly long limbs before Zayn has a chance to change his mind, flopping across the bed. </p>
<p>“I was so hoping you’d say that.”</p>
<p>* * * </p>
<p>or, the one where zayn has a lot of secret escapes and safe havens and he takes harry on a magical mystery tour of them all and they possibly maybe fall in love somewhere along the way</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> One went out at a bus-stop in Edinburgh  
> One went out in an English park  
> One went out in a night club, when I was fifteen  
> Little lights in my heart.

It’s the last night of tour before a concert-free week with a bit of promo and ‘appearances’ pre-America, and the entire band are antsy, but none more so than Zayn. As they run offstage for the last time, Zayn careers straight into Perrie.

“Oh! Hey!” He hugs her awkwardly, muttering a “what are you doing this isn’t scheduled for tonight is it?” into the shoulder of her jacket. She shakes her head daintily in response and nods at a cameraman.

“I’ve just been filming for the movie,” she says to him. “Y’know, how hard it is being a couple on the road, never getting to see eachother, whatnot.”

“Give her a kiss!” the cameraman calls. He obliges by giving her a quick kiss on the forehead before tugging her into the green room, a wonderfully paparazzi, fan and filmmaker free zone, and then he drops her hand like it’s a hot poker as she rounds on him.

“Where have you been? You haven’t answered any of my texts, my management are going insane, this… Zayn, you promised you’d help us and I promised I’d help you, I can’t help you if I don’t see you.” Perrie seems concerned and annoyed in equal measure. Harry was right about the whole fake relationship thing – it was just like having a real relationship, but without any of the fun stuff. Like sex. Or mutual attraction.

“I’m fine. Sorry, I need to go get changed, can you wait here?” Zayn disappears from sight and when he returns, he wishes he hadn’t. He gulps nervously, watching Perrie and Liam talking furtively in the corner of the green room. Liam smiles at Perrie, waves her off, and makes a bee-line for Harry, the smile falling off his face. Zayn glares at Perrie’s retreating back and returns to coiffing his hair in the mirror. He can feel Harry’s eyes burning into his back, and knows it’s precisely 30 seconds before he works out the truth. Or some semblance of it.

* * *

Two days later and he’s sitting at a table in a conference room in a fancy hotel with the other boys. Liam and Harry are frowning, Louis is fiddling with a coaster, and Niall is just blissfully ignorant, playing Temple Run on his phone. When Simon Cowell walks in the entire band sits up. A visit from Simon normally comes with congratulations or complaints – and since they’d not done anything good, they begin casting furtive glances at eachother. Harry and Liam look knowing, and Zayn does his best to look confused – Niall and Louis don’t need to pretend.

“Boys. I called you here today to give you all a warning. The American leg of this tour is very important. You need to stay out of trouble.” He fixes Harry with a steely glare. “Or in the right kind of trouble. Just do as you’re told, alright?” The boys nod quietly, the instructions nothing new. “And Zayn, you need to stay where we can keep an eye on you, no more pulling disappearing acts. Where have you been going? This past weekend we’ve been in Newcastle, you should be out and about with Perrie, but their handlers say you haven’t even tried to turn up to the outings they schedule for you two. Little Mix’s new single is floundering, I’m pretty sure Louis’s girlfriend is getting more publicity than they do. And she’s not even famous!” Simon lectures, looking slightly disgusted. Louis gulps as though he wants to say something. “Where do you even find to go all the time? Must be somewhere pap-free.”

“He’s been with me, he came home with me,” Harry says, too quickly, hooking his ankle around Zayn’s under the table so Zayn doesn’t ruin the story. “My mum was saying he needed feeding up and then the trains were bad and it was too far and there’s not very good signal back home and…” Harry mutters.

“You know what one of the first rules is, Harry? If someone gives more than one excuse, they’re usually lying.” Simon replies, his voice calm but eyes boring into Harry before returning their cool gaze to Zayn, who shifts uncomfortably, untwining his leg from Harry’s and instantly missing the warmth. “Zayn. Stay in the hotels you are dropped at with the other boys, no more going walkies. Okay? I’ll check in next week, can you take it from here?” Simon asks one of the Modest! Management team. They nod and pull the door open for him. “Goodbye lads, be safe,” are Simon’s parting words, and not for the first time, they sound like a threat. 

The rest of the team pass the boy’s their schedules for the next week – Zayn snorts when he sees that Wednesday just has “PERRIE PROMOTION” written in big red letters and wonders how much their schedules would sell to the tabloids for. He sneaks a peek at what Niall’s doing on Wednesday, forcing himself not to snort at the carefully pencilled in “free time – must be taken at hotel” that Niall has scheduled. Reassuringly, Louis’s schedule had ‘ELEANOR TOPSHOP TRIP’ scheduled for that afternoon – it made Zayn feel better that real relationships also had to be scheduled and publicised. He looked at the plan for today, smiling that it was pleasingly empty, aside from a few scheduled ‘tweets’ that he wasn’t responsible to write.

* * *

A knocking rouses Zayn from his nap in the hotel room allocated to him, and he starts to regret resting there for a second, wishing he’d just gone out instead. He opens the door to find himself staring into baleful, unaccusing green eyes.

“What?” Zayn demands, a little too harshly.

“Where do you go? When the shows are over and we all head home to our family and our beds? Where do you go, Zayn? You’re just… off the grid.” Harry’s voice is heavy with genuine concern. Zayn can feel it, coating him like a syrupy sweet blanket. Zayn considers letting him in for a second, before setting his mouth in a hard line.

“Out.” He says, closing the door, closing the topic. He leans his forehead against it for a moment before reaching for the door handle. “Harry?” he calls after Harry’s retreating back. “…do you really want to find out?”

Harry bounds into the room on his impossibly long limbs before Zayn has a chance to change his mind, flopping across the bed.

“I was so hoping you’d say that.”

* * *

“So, where are we headed?” Harry asks quietly, his fingers brushing the outside of Zayn’s thigh habitually as he shifts his car into gear.

“Just get on the motorway towards the South, I’ll give you a nudge when you need to turn.” Harry nods mutely and focuses on driving, hitting a button on the dashboard when the silence becomes overbearing. The car is filled with Frank Ocean’s voice and Zayn mentally commends himself on his choice of which band mate to be honest with. Harry’s relaxed, easy going manner wasn’t just an act. When you were with him, his attention was 100% yours, his eyes fixed on you as if you were the most interesting person on the planet. There was something inherently trustworthy about the boy, something that had drawn him closer, closer than the other members had ever managed. Liam was too sensible, too under the thumb of their management, Niall too naïve about the reality of fame, Louis too knowing and not at all afraid. Harry was just _Harry_ , and had remained Harry through everything. About an hour into the drive, Zayn starts to crave nicotine. He itches the back of his hand, flicking his thumb idly. Harry winds down a window instinctively, and once again Zayn is eternally grateful he chose to bring Harry along as he pulls a half-empty carton of Marlboro Lights from his pocket and lights up, inhaling deeply.

“Turn left,” Zayn instructs suddenly, and Harry does so, following winding roads and Zayn’s short directions til grey, characterless motorway are replaced by thin, badly made roads past small cottages and farms. “Okay, pull up here.” Zayn indicates a building with a small car park.

“Malik’s magical mystery tour,” Harry comments, peering out of the window curiously as he manoeuvres the car into a space. Zayn’s unplugged his seatbelt and is out of the car before Harry has a chance to remove his keys from the ignition, wanting to prolong the space between the inevitable questions and the answers that he doesn’t have. He glances around, looking at Harry, who is languidly leaning on the car bonnet, relaxed even in this unfamiliar setting. He gulps.

“Did you know I was seeing someone before we went on the X Factor?” Zayn asks quietly, going to lean on the car next to him. The sun is shining down for once, making them both squint slightly.

“No.” Harry seems slightly surprised – he thought they had no secrets from their past left to keep. “Who is she?”

Zayn swallows again, feeling like his throat is full of treacle. “He… he was truly something.”

Harry’s entire body tenses for a second and then he exhales. Zayn exhales too, a breath that he didn’t even realise he was holding as Harry slips closer, their hips bumping together.

“What happened?” Harry asks eventually, after an agonising silence.

“He’s uh, he’s here,” Zayn raises his eyes to the graveyard behind the church. Harry freezes, realization dawning on his face. He twiddles the crucifix necklace around his neck between his long fingers.

“Shit.” He eventually mutters, lost for words.

“C’mon,” Zayn says finally, pushing up from the car and walking away from Harry at pace, suddenly needing to match visuals with words as the sun passes behind a cloud. Harry is hot on his heels, catching his hand and squeezing it. Zayn hadn’t even noticed it shaking but it feels a lot more solid clutched firmly in Harry’s. He squeezes it back gratefully, thankful to have someone to cling to as he slows his pace. It’s quite a quaint little churchyard, full of crumbling graves and wilting flowers. Harry’s squinting at all the names and dates and trying to be sly about it, making Zayn crack a smile – the first real one since getting in the car. Zayn eventually stops, sitting cross-legged opposite one of the newer looking tombstones, which reads ‘ADAM LEE JOHNSTONE’. Harry loiters, using his newly-freed hand to pull off his beanie and shake out his curls and waiting for Zayn to say something else.

“We met on holiday. Near here. He was lovely but completely off the rails – raised Christian, acting rebellious in his teenage years. I was his… biggest rebellion. He was mine too, I suppose. Before I joined a boyband, that is.” Zayn pulls some strands of grass up and begins plaiting them clumsily as he speaks, Harry eventually sitting behind him. “When I left to do the whole music thing, it was just.. it was just gone.”

Harry’s doing maths in his head with the dates.

“So he was 18 when you met?” He inches closer to Zayn, coaxing him back so he’s sitting awkwardly between Harry’s thighs like an ill-located two-man performance of Oops Upside Your Head.

“Yeah. He was gorgeous, but there was something sly about him, I don’t know. He was a dark kind of handsome, like… Spike from Buffy.” Zayn laughs at his own analogy, feeling instantly guilty. “But yeah. I got on X Factor, things got crazy, he got on with his life. And then, he was dead.”

“How?” Harry asks gently, kneading his thumbs on the base of Zayn’s spine. An unfamiliar feeling rises in Zayn’s gut and he focuses on evening the grass braid between his fingers, adding a few more strands before continuing.

“I killed him.”

Harry spluttered. “What?”

“He took a shit ton of pills, and he called me, and I didn’t pick up, and he died, so I killed him, right?” Zayn curls in on himself and he can feel Harry’s forehead rested on his back, Harry’s fingers grazing up and down his arms as he slowly unfurls and resumes plaiting the grass. “It’s my fault,” he adds matter of factly.

“It’s not your fault.” Harry replies instantly, voice muffled slightly as he nuzzles Zayn’s jacket with his head. Harry’s always associated contact with comfort.

“You have to say that, you don’t know me.”

“I do,” Harry protests, hurt. “I know you. I know you wouldn’t have done it on purpose. Things got crazy. It is not your fault. ” He repeats, firmly.

“I can’t help feeling that it is.” Zayn clarifies. “I shouldn’t have brought you here.” He ties the grass around Harry’s wrist like a friendship bracelet and jumps to his feet.

“So this is where you come? Every time you’ve gone off grid? Where do you sleep? How do you…?” Harry seems even more confused than he was before they arrived.

“Not always. But it’s part of the puzzle… I guess this was just stop one on the Malik mystery tour,” Zayn said, a slight bitterness behind his words that Harry picks up on instantly.

“I had no idea, Zayn.” He says guiltily. “I would never have made you… I don’t want you to…” Zayn offers a hand to pull Harry up from the grass and with that gesture Harry knows he’s forgiven. Their hands somehow don’t let go of each other until they’re back in the car and driving down more unfamiliar roads.

“So, where to next?”

“Keep going down these roads,”

“Where even are we?”

“A place where One Direction is not quite a household name.”

Harry smiles. “Excellent.” The smile falters when 25 minutes later, Zayn tells him to follow the signs for the ‘Yellow Fields Nursing Home’.

“Errrr, Zayn?” Harry . “Old people freak me out,”

“Oh, nah, they’re really cool!” Zayn promises, suddenly eager as they pull up outside what looks like a large stately home. He pushes the door open and tugs on Harry’s arm. He reluctantly follows Zayn. “So you don’t bat an eyelid at graveyards, but a room of geriatrics…”

“I thought all of your family lived up in Bradford?” Harry changes the subject quickly as their shoes crunch on the gravel pathway.

“Oh, they are. This is a funny story. Actually, it’s fucking embarrassing. Maybe I shouldn’t tell it and just introduce you to a really really old person and pretend that they’re my grandparent.”

“Nooo, you have to tell me now!” Harry protested, bouncing in front of Zayn, glad to have an opportunity to lighten the mood.

“Well the first time I came to the graveyard, it was when we were on the Up All Night tour and in Manchester. I couldn’t drive then so I just got a cab to the church, then I thought maybe I’d walk around, take in the locale. I… err… got pretty lost.”

“Zayn, this was a twenty five minute _drive_ away, how lost did you get?!” Harry smiled.

“You know what my sense of direction is like - don’t make any puns please! Anyway, so I’ve been walking around for ages, and I really need a piss, and I don’t wanna pee in the woods in case I get papped or something, that’d piss Simon right off and I still wanted to please him so badly, especially after I’d snuck off that day. And it’s getting darker and darker, and my phone battery dies, and, I see this building in the distance so I go in to pee and use the phone and… the receptionist didn’t recognise me… nobody knew me. Do you know how refreshing that is? They didn’t know me from just any random person! They had to do a background check on me! ME!”

Harry laughs. “Why did they have to do a background check?”

“Well, I just… I liked the anonymity, so I came here to talk to some people who didn’t know me as the ‘Bradford Bad Boy’. They just knew me as that idiot who got lost and needed to pee that one time, and now they know me as that guy who comes in occasionally to hold yarn for grannies and play chess with granddads.”

“You hold yarn for grannies?” Harry seems incredulous, holding the door open for Zayn as they step into the warm reception. “You big softy, you!” 

“Shut up, Styles.” Zayn retorts. “Hi Annie,” he calls to the woman in her mid fifties sitting at the desk and currently looking up at Zayn as though he just cured cancer. “Just come to sit in the gardens with my friend here for a while, that okay?”

“Oh, hey! Yeah sure, be sure to drop in on Sadie before you leave, she’s been asking about you!” Annie presses a button and an automatic door buzzes open.

“Thank you!” Zayn smiles widely and tugs Harry by the sleeve of his jumper through the doors into the grounds.

“Woah, shit. I get it. I get it.” Harry’s eyes are wider than a kid in a candy shop as he takes in the fountains and flowers.

“That’s not even the best part,” Zayn swells with pride as he drops Harry’s sleeve. Harry’s hand is back in his instantly.

“Lead me the way,” Harry smiles. Zayn obliges, an odd, calm quiet settling back over the pair as Harry runs his fingers under water features and tweaks roses.

“Okay, close your eyes.” Zayn instructs as they round a corner. Harry obliges, holding his hand a little tighter. Zayn guides him onto a bench, keeping a firm hold on his hand. “Right. Open,”

Harry’s intake of breath is so similar to the reaction that Zayn had that it makes Zayn’s stomach do a little backflip, for reasons that he doesn’t want to address right now. They’re sitting in front of a lake, swans and all, the sun is shining and they can see for miles, acres and acres of greenery, and not a motorway in sight.

“I forgot places like this existed. I rarely see outside of a hotel room.”

“Or a hotel ceiling,” Zayn jokes, nudging Harry.

“Oit.” They laugh for a minute and then Harry swallows and turns back to Zayn. “You didn’t kill him. Adam, I mean.”

“Drop it, it’s fine,” Zayn shakes his head. “I shouldn’t have said it.”

“No, no, it’s not fine. You can’t carry this around with you forever. You need to let it go. Let him go.”

“He let me go,” Zayn admits, kicking a rock into the water and watching the ripples spread. “When I told him I was through. It was over. He said that was the end for us, he knew what it’d be like for a… for a gay boy, on a talent show. ”

“So, you really… hmm.”

“What?” Zayn demands.

“Nothing.” Harry mutters, twisting the bracelet Zayn made earlier around and around on his wrist, before leaning down to pick up a particularly beautiful rock from underfoot, turning it over in his hands. “Let him go,” Harry echoes, passing Zayn the rock. Zayn looks at it. It truly is beautiful, almost translucent and the palest shade of amber, with jagged edges like an uncut diamond. He runs a finger along an edge.

“How?”

“Imagine that he’s the rock.” Harry says simply, and Zayn blinks, looking down at the rock. He’s never had much of an imagination but he forces himself to look harder – the sharpness, the colours – if he’d had to pick up any rock, this would be the one he’d be drawn to.

“Then what?” Zayn tosses the rock from hand to hand, thumb stroking a particular groove.

“Just leave it. Leave it here, and walk away with me now.” Harry implores. Zayn raises the rock to his lips for a moment before doing Harry one better and throwing it into the water, making a few swans flutter their wings in protest. Harry smiles fondly. “Feel better?”

“Slightly, actually.” Zayn’s genuinely surprised, but part of that heavy weight that sits on his chest has lifted.

“It wasn’t your fault.” Harry says again. “I’ll keep telling you until you believe me.”

“I just wish I knew why he called. I had closure, I really did. But then I heard the news and I didn’t even know he had called because Simon had changed our numbers to avoid hangers-on! I’ll never know. That’s the worst part.”

“Maybe you don’t have to know everything. Maybe things are best unsaid, or unheard.” Harry sighs, and it’s as though they’re not talking about Adam anymore. Zayn turns to Harry and for a strange moment he feels like kissing him would be a great idea. He shakes it off.

“You wanna go?” He asks.

“Where to now?”

“Well, I said that I’d go visit Sadie, do you want to? You can wait in the car?”

“No, actually I kind of want to see this.” Harry admits.

“She’s awesome, honestly.” Zayn insists, leading Harry back inside and down the corridors into another reception with another receptionist who looks at him with stars in her eyes and tells them in a hushed voice that “it’s not a good day Zayn, she’ll be glad to see you.” Harry looks anxious as Zayn leads him into what looks like a hospital ward, and smells like artificial lemons and old people and for once, Harry’s completely out of his element. Zayn pads softly over to a bed and settles down in a chair, shrugging off his leather jacket and placing it on the table, next to a sad looking old woman who completely lights up when she sees Zayn arrive.

“Hey, Sadie,” he says gently. “There’s someone I want you to meet,” Harry resists the urge to impale himself on a nearby knitting needle and sidles over, standing behind Zayn awkwardly.

“This must be Harry!” Sadie says cheerfully. “Surely?”

“Yeah… you know me?” Harry blushes slightly, looking at Zayn as if to say ‘I thought nobody knew us here’.

“Only through what Zayn’s said! Last time I was telling him off about all those silly tattoos, he said yours were sillier!”

“Heeeeeeey!” Harry complains, kicking Zayn’s shoe in annoyance. “Mine are quirky! Nice to meet you Sadie,” he adds. He settles down on the arm of the chair Zayn’s sat in, twining their legs. Sadie watches the movement with a massive grin before launching into a conversation with Zayn about the nursing home gossip.

“Bloody hell.” Harry comments after one too many stories about sponge baths gone awry. “I can’t wait to be in one of these places!” Zayn punches his thigh in response and they all laugh, Harry’s completely surprised at how well he gets on with Sadie and is gutted when the receptionist from earlier tells them that she should probably be getting some rest. He hugs her goodbye when they leave, not even minding the smell of old people, and she catches his elbow.

“Harry… don’t wait too long, okay?” She whispers conspiratorially. Harry blinks in confusion but the receptionist wheels Sadie away before he can ask what she meant. That’s the first time Harry even notices she’s in a wheelchair.

“So what’s wrong with her?” Harry asks in a hushed voice as they leave, waving goodbye to the other receptionist on their way back to the car.

“She’s just old, Haz. It happens to us all,” Zayn seems matter-of-fact about it.

“Shiiiit.” Harry mutters. “I’m looking forward to the sponge baths now, though. So, you go to the church, you visit old people, any more layers to peel away?”

“Errrrrrrr.”

“Sounds like a yes. C’mon, you can drive for a bit.”

“Harry Styles is letting me drive his car? To what do I owe the pleasure?” 

“I just… I have some stuff to think about.” _Stuff like you being gay and me being maybe slightly gay and neither of us revealing this until this very moment_ He adds in his head, throwing Zayn the keys, Sadie’s words hanging heavy over him. 

_Don’t wait too long._


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One went out when I lied to my mother  
> Said the cigarettes she found were not mine  
> One went out within me  
> Now I smoke like a chimney  
> It's getting dark in this heart of mine  
> It's getting dark in this heart of mine.
> 
> We're born with millions  
> Of little lights shining in the dark  
> And they show us the way  
> One lights up, every time you feel love in your heart  
> One dies when it moves away.

Zayn navigates the familiar roads behind the unfamiliar steering wheel, occasionally throwing a glance Harry’s way. He’d never seen Harry so pensieve before – normally, Harry vocalised everything that crossed his mind. Zayn couldn’t help but wonder if Harry’s regretting the entire trip. Shrugging it off, he fiddles with the music until he finds something he knows Harry hates. Taylor Swift’s voice fills the car and he nearly crashes into a tree from laughing so hard. Harry snaps out of whatever thought he’s deeply enveloped in to hit the ‘next’ button. Zayn slaps his hand away and something like electricity passes between them.

“Zayn!” Harry cries in mock disgust. “Of all the things,” he scolds.

“C’mon, I love this song.” Zayn says unflinchingly, swaying his head and singing along to 22.

“I can’t believe you! You could’ve said that to her when she was hanging around me like a… thing…”

“You still pissed at that?”

“Kind of. I mean, I get that it got us a lot of publicity in the end, but I don’t get why it always has to be me in the papers. The bad guy. Did you see Simon earlier? The ‘right kind of trouble’? It’s like he’s some overlord puppeteer…” He trails off for a moment, looking at his foot which has been tapping treacherously for the past minute. “Okay, this song is golden.”

“Right?” Zayn laughs. “We’re happy, free, confused and lonely at the same time…” he sings along, turning it up against Harry’s protest and prodding him with skinny fingers until he succumbs.

“Hey, hey, focus on the road!” Harry shoves his hand away playfully and hums along.

“What do you think we’ll be doing when we’re 22?” Zayn interrupts suddenly.

“God knows. Maybe Taylor and I will be married with two small eyed children,” Harry fires back. “Simon could be their godfather.” He adds bitterly.

“No, I mean it. Our contract’s’ll expire and our fans’ll outgrow us and then what? We just go home?” Zayn tries to keep his voice light, but he figures since Harry’s along for the ride anyway, might as well let him all the way in. “Just… I want so much to be normal, now. But what if when we get out, I want back in?”

“It’ll be fine. We’ll just keep dancing like we’re 22.” Harry says firmly, skipping the end of the song and settling down happily when a song by The Gaslight Anthem starts blaring. “This.” Harr y blurts.

“What?”

“I want to do this. Proper music that I wrote and played and sweated over and produced in dingy basements. Nick thinks it’s a shit idea and they’ll never go for it. But when everything ends, then I want to do this.”

“On your own?” Zayn’s voice comes out a little smaller and way more hurt than curious. He had always assumed when the fame burnt out that they’d just go quiet until they were pulled back together for a reunion concert.

“Errrr, dunno. Nick thinks-“

“Harry, it’s fine.”

“You’re freaked. Why are you freaked?”

“I’m not. I just… I think about the future a lot. Once all this is gone, I mean.”

“Is that why you leave?”

“Sort of. It’s a lot easier to imagine my life without you when you’re not around to interrupt, y’know. I just forgot that you’d have to have a life without me,”

“Without the band?” Harry corrects.

“Without me.”

Harry ponders this adamant refusal to reword for a minute.

“I could never just leave you,” he mutters shyly.

“Leave the band?” Zayn can’t help but ask.

“Leave you.”

They sit in silence for a while, Harry’s fingers drumming to a beat completely away from the song and Zayn narrowing his eyes at the road as though he’s never seen it before. It feels like something has shifted between them, something strange and unspeakable.

When Zayn finally stops the car, an hour has passed and dusk is starting to set over the small cottage he’s parking in front of. Harry sits up, squinting at the residential road which seems completely and utterly uninspiring.

“Where are we?”

“Home.” Zayn replies simply, pulling keys from his pocket and jangling them in Harry’s face, and Harry’s completely thrown because he’s been to Zayn’s home, a mansion in Hampstead, with a real stuffed bear that he won from Bieber in the hallway and chandeliers in the kitchen and mirrors on the ceiling in the guest bedroom. This cottage is about as far from that place as chalk is from cheese. “Sssh.” Zayn says. “I’ll explain. Just come in. Please.”

So Harry does, noting the flowerbeds that line the porch are the same roses that grew in the nursing home. Part of him expects Zayn to kick the door down and declare that he’s actually a burglar but the key fits and the door opens and Zayn guides him inside, his hand lingering on Harry’s elbow a moment longer than necessary, fumbling for the light switch as he closed out the daylight.

“What… the fuck. When did you buy this place? How did you buy this place?” Harry is incredulous – not that he thought Zayn couldn’t afford it, just that he managed to do it without anyone knowing, without Simon knowing.

“Just told my mum I needed a place to get away from it all, she sorted it for me, they’re none the wiser.” Zayn shrugs.

“Why here, though?”

“Why anywhere?” is Zayn’s simple reply, and Harry ponders this for a moment, seeing the logic. “Just a place, just an average place.”

“So, grand tour then?”

Zayn nods, glad to share another little part of his life with someone else. It’s strange, but seeing Harry against the backdrop of these places makes them more real somehow, and he’s still so glad he chose Harry to share it with. Harry with his incessantly understanding ways and friendly touches and general easy attitude to life – he wishes he’d done it sooner.

“Right, so, hallway, behind you is the bathroom, upstairs there’s just a bedroom, kitchen’s through there and there’s a living room through here,” Zayn tugs Harry down the narrow hallway and into the living room, settling down on the couch. Harry took the room in.

“No TV?” He commented eventually. “What do you do?”

“Eh… I draw, read sometimes. Learn things. Y’know, it’s kind of crazy but I miss school.”

“Same!” Harry says instantly. “Like, learning what a bolo tie is and the correct occasion which to wear it is fascinating, but… I miss learning real things.”

“Maybe I’ll apply to art college. Y’know. After.” _After._ It’s there again, looming over them like the final pages of a particularly exciting book.

“You’d get in anywhere you like. Y’know, like Emma Watson, you’ve got cultural capital coming out of your ears, it wouldn’t be a problem,” Harry reassures Zayn.

“I know, I just… I wouldn’t want to be Zayn Malik, I’d just want to be a guy doing a degree. Y’know?”

“Are you that good?” Harry enquires. “I mean, I’ve seen you doodle things but, a degree?”

“Maybe kind of,” Zayn kicks a sketchbook open and Harry grabs it eagerly, thumbing through the pages.

“Zayn! These are incredible,” Harry exclaims, genuine admiration in his voice. “Wow.” He flicks a page and smiles. “Is this… me?” he asks, holding it up to his face. Zayn inclines his head shyly, cheeks flushing.

“Ehh, yeah.”

“I look really happy,” Harry observes. “And quite attractive!”

“You generally are! Happy, I mean.”

Harry turns to the next page. “Ooh, this is cool.” He strokes the line art on a drawing of a microphone. “I want this tattooed on my face.”

“Maybe not your face, that’s the money maker.”

“You could do this, Zayn, you could really do this.” Harry’s getting excited now, poring over each page as though the book was going to be taken away from him any minute.

“You think?”

“I know.”

“You could do the rock thing, y’know. Screw what Nick thinks, he doesn’t know shit.”

“He’s the host of –“

“He doesn’t know shit, you can do anything.”

“Are we gonna hug or something now?”

“Probably should.” Harry scooches closer to Zayn and burrows into his arms.

“Your heart is going really fast,” he notes, grazing his fingers over Zayn’s chest.

“Mmmmm,” Zayn mumbles, doing his best to appear nonchalant. Just then, Harry’s stomach lets out an almighty gurgle and they both burst out laughing.

“Don’t suppose you own a secret pizza parlor in your back garden, Mystery Man?”

“Nah… we could always order in?” Zayn suggests.

“… no phone pick-up.” Harry complains, holding his phone up to different corners of the sofa experimentally.

“Oh yeah, it’s kind of a blind spot for signal here.”

“God. How do you live like this?” Harry seems genuinely horrified for a moment.

“I dunno, I like the quiet.”

“It is kind of nice. But still. What about food, Zayn. Foooood.” Harry grumbles, headbutting Zayn fondly.

“Er, c’mon, I’ll whip something up.” Zayn says decisively, Harry snorting at the prospect. “What?” Zayn demands.

“I have never seen you cook anything. Save for pot noodle. And the occasional microwave popcorn.” Harry points out and Zayn gives him a shove, walking away and into the kitchen.

“You’ll see!” he calls to Harry, who pads after him and opens a random cupboard in surprise, shocked to find it full of food, tins and jars neatly ordered.

“What? How can you even have all this food in? You are on a worldwide tour! Your cupboards should be empty… or full of beer and instant coffee!”

“Have you heard of online shopping?”

“For _food?!_ ” Harry repeats, the concept completey alien to him as he roots through Zayn’s spice rack in rapturous laughter. “Cumin! You have cumin, Zayn. You have cumin. What even is cumin?!”

“Harrrrry. Sit down,” Zayn commands, head deep in the freezer. He re-emerges a few seconds later with some frozen meat and vegetables in his hands. Harry is still fixated on the cumin as Zayn pours oil into a large pan.

“What are you making?” Harry bounces up beside Zayn and looks at the ingredients expectantly, as though hoping they’d suddenly grow legs and dance about.

“You’ll see. Now get out of my way,” Zayn commands, steering Harry towards a bag of potatoes he’d retrieved from a cupboard and handing him a potato peeler. “Get busy.” Harry holds it between his thumb and forefinger hesitantly.

“Are you serious? Just peel it!”

“I haven’t peeled a potato in three years,” Harry seems taken aback by this revelation and starts to peel happily. “It’s kind of therapeutic.” He decides.

“Great, because there’s more where that came from.” Zayn’s chopping onions and cooking meat and (much to Harry’s glee) using cumin, the kitchen smelling delicious by the time Harry’s finished peeling his fourth potato. By the time it’s ready, Harry is grovelling for Zayn’s forgiveness.

“I didn’t know you could cook! I would never have mocked you otherwise! Let me lick the spoon,” Harry pleads, all but climbing over Zayn to get closer to the pan.

“No, get your germs out of my recipe! Get the bowls from the cupboard over there, and we can eat like proper adults… on the sofa.” Zayn bumps Harry’s hip with his own, swearing he’s never seen him move so fast.

They end up eating their dinner on the patio outside, staring up at the stars (“Stars! I haven’t seen stars in years! I forgot the night sky didn’t always have to glow orange!”). Harry is completely silent for a few minutes as he scoffs his dinner like he hasn’t been fed for weeks. Zayn watches him, amusement crossing his face.

“You. Are a god, Zayn Malik. And a man of many talents. Including cookery and real estate. I can never let you go,” Harry says decisively, letting his fork clatter into the bowl and crawling across the loveseat into Zayn’s lap happily. “This has been a really nice day.” He declares. “Even if I forced you into it… I’m glad you showed me.”

“You didn’t force me,” Zayn protests softly, carding his fingers through Harry’s hair like he was a cat. “It was good to have you along. It made a bad day better.” He confessed. “This house doesn’t seem so big and empty with you here. It feels just right, now.”

Harry yawns and nuzzles into Zayn’s touch. “Tired?” Zayn enquires.

“So very. You were right, it’s never quite… peaceful, with my phone and the band and Paul and whoever… I feel like I could sleep right now.”

“Are you gonna stay the night?” Zayn asks, all in one breath. It sounds too much like a proposition to go unnoticed, and Harry freezes for a moment. Zayn starts panicking internally, thinking that maybe Harry isn’t so okay with the gay thing and thinks he’s trying to convert him.

“Are _you?_ ” Harry fires back.

“I guess so. You can stay, if you want. You can have my bed.” Zayn clarifies, wanting there to be no confusion.

“No, you have your bed!”

“No, you’re the guest.”

“Only under duress.”

“That rhymed.”

“Still counts. I’ll take the sofa, I can sleep anywhere.”

They squabble like this for a few minutes until Harry agrees to take the sofa. He splays across it, pulling his t-shirt over his head and lazily grinning up at Zayn, who rolls his eyes and throws a blanket at him from the linen closet.

“Night, Harry.”

“Niiiiiight.” Harry replies, looking more at home than Zayn’d ever seen him. He let himself take a mental snapshot of him for a moment before climbing up the stairs to his own bed, surprised at how much the day had taken out of him as he crawled under his sheets and conks out in a matter of minutes.

2am and he hears creaking on the stairs, confused and panicking before he realises that _oh, yeah, Harry is in his little haven now, Harry is part of his little secret_.

“Zaaayn.” Harry pads into the room and clambers into the single bed. “Can I sleep with you? The silence is creepy,” he reasons, cold, sleepy hands trailing over Zayn’s bare chest.

“Okay, but no snoring, and you better not be naked.” Zayn grumbles, wrapping his arms around Harry. They lie quietly for a few moments, legs twining of their own accord.

“Zaaayn.” Harry mumbles.

“What?”

“About Adam,”

“Yeah?”

“I had some Adams.”

“What?”

“I’m… y’know. I like guys. Like that as well.”

Zayn feels like the bed has just disappeared and he’s been dropped into a sea of sharks. Self-admittedly somewhat heteroflexible sharks. He realises that it’s been about 30 seconds and he’s not said anything in response.

“Oh.” He manages eventually.

“Yeah.”

“But…” Zayn is trying to think of a girl Harry has dated, some sort of rebuttal but all he can remember is dates set up by management and girls names written all over Harry’s schedule in angry red letters like Perrie’s name is written over his. “Shit.” Zayn mutters.

“So there’s that.”

“Yeah, that’s… that!” Zayn suddenly bursts out laughing, so loud that he’s pretty sure the neighbours might complain or his sides’ll burst and Harry’s poking him, exasperated.

“Zayn! I just came out to you and you’re laughing in my face!” He complains wearily.

“I’m sorry, no, I mean, I’m really happy that you could do that, but this is ludicrous, you’re ‘Harry Styles, serial womaniser’! Who else knows?” Zayn’s slightly sobered by the thought of the media really finding out. About him, or Harry, or both of them – god knows what the papers’d say, what the fans’d say.

“Just management, and Simon. We decided it was best that we kept it as a kind of need-to-know basis.”

“And you didn’t think that we needed to know?” Zayn’s slightly angry now, his voice pitching as the laughter dies in his throat, the tiny bed becoming uncomfortably claustrophobic.

“You can talk! You’ve been hiding this whole secret life from us,” Harry accuses.

“It’s amazing how we’re saying ‘us’ and ‘we’ but it’s just you and I here,” Zayn spits sourly.

“Zayn, I don’t want to fight with you now, please,”

“Then why did you tell me? Why now? Why not before? We could’ve helped eachother, we could’ve gone to management together and – “

“For the same reasons you didn’t tell me. Seems a bit harsh from a different perspective, huh?”

“Huh.” Zayn grunts.

“I’m sorry.” Harry apologises, his voice impossibly small.

“Me too. C’mere,” They hug awkwardly, limbs poking here and there. “Love ya,” Zayn mutters into Harry’s hair.

“You too,” Harry sighs sleepily, leaning up to place a delicate, tired kiss on Zayn’s jawline. “Silly boy.” He falls asleep almost instantly, with a satisfied expression on his face, and Zayn squints at his face in the darkness.

“Silly boy.” He grumbles to no-one in particular, kissing the corner of his mouth softly. “Enough now.” He reminds himself, wrapping his arms around Harry a little tighter and falling into an uneasy sleep, not looking forward to waking up and crashing back to reality.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs in this chapter: 22 by you-know-who obviously.
> 
> Also, The Gaslight Anthem: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zw3w1iKiq8M tell me that this song doesn't make you want to run away and start a rock band
> 
> Sorry this chapter isn't as long/good, just wanted to get the update up because I leave for Paris tomorrow!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One went out in the back streets of Manchester  
> One went out in an airport in Spain  
> One went out, have no doubt  
> When I grew up and moved out  
> Of the place where the boy used to play.

When Zayn wakes up late the next morning, the bed is empty. He stretches his limbs cautiously, hoping to brush against Harry but instead his fingers brush on cold sheets. Zayn’s suddenly wide awake, sitting up with a jolt and looking around the room. He calls Harry’s name cautiously before pulling on a t-shirt and padding down the stairs, peeping his head into the kitchen and the lounge. He sees his pile of sketchbooks is missing the one Harry thumbed through yesterday and another one is strewn open with “BRB” scrawled across an empty page in Harry’s lazy handwriting.

Zayn frowns, calling Harry’s name again while re-arranging the sketchbooks, as though he would materialise from between the folds. Shrugging, he makes himself some toast with bread out of the freezer and sets about doing a new drawing. It’s a boy, with shaggy hair, half asleep in the morning light, and it definitely bears no resemblance to what he saw on the pillow beside him when he woke with a start at 5:30am. Well, maybe it looks a little like Harry. The boy himself walks in as Zayn finishes the line-art, dangling the house keys between his lanky fingers and looking guilty.

“Alright?” Zayn snaps the sketchbook shut and looks at Harry, narrowing his eyes.

“Yeah. I er, I did something.” Harry sheepishly pulls up the sleeve of his hoodie to reveal a dressing. Zayn’s at his side in an instant.

“What happened?” He runs his fingers across the crisp cotton softly. Harry smiles anxiously and peels it back to reveal a new tattoo, right under the ‘things I can’ tattoo that spans the inside of his right arm. Zayn exhales slowly.

“You…. You had it done?” The microphone that Harry had pored over yesterday is permanently emblazoned on his skin now. Zayn touches it and Harry flinches.

“Still sore,” he explains, reapplying the dressing and pulling down his sleeves. “Is it… I just… I had to.”

“It’s amazing. It’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever done. But what if you regret it?”

“Zayn, you have ‘zap’ tattoeed on your forearm.” Harry reminds him.

“Shut up. So are we cool?”

“I think so,” Harry smiles. “I got some coffee and muffins, there’s a little town about 20 minutes fro- you know that, you live here…” he trails off.

“Great!” Zayn forces a smile to match Harry’s own, knowing it doesn’t touch his eyes as Harry scampers back to his car, returning with two large Starbucks cups and a bag of muffins which he tosses to Zayn with his good arm.

“So, plan for today?” Harry asks eagerly, settling next to Zayn, arguments of the night seemingly all forgotten.

“Ehh,” Zayn thinks through a mouthful of muffin. “What did it say on the schedule?”

“Why?” Harry looks crestfallen.

“I figure we pissed management off enough for one week, don’t want another visit from Uncle Simon. Let’s go back.” Zayn says quietly.

Harry frowns.

“Did I do something wrong?” he pouts, daintily taking a piece of muffin between his fingers and hounding Zayn with big, hurt eyes.

“No, I just… I don’t wanna push it too far again.” Zayn reassures him, sipping the coffee gratefully and hoping Harry didn’t press him further.

“Okay.”

“We can still… talk, if you want. I’ll get dressed then we’ll head back, yeah?” Zayn has a last swig of the coffee and throws a smile back at Harry as he leaves the room.

Harry waits a beat before he inches across to the sketchbook and opens it cautiously. He sees the drawing Zayn’d been working on minutes earlier and his face contorts in surprise. He quickly puts it back where he found it and folds his legs in a caricature of casualness as Zayn returns in skinny jeans and a black shirt. He chucks Harry a pair of sunglasses and a leather jacket.

“In case of the paps, yeah? Don’t want them to think you wore the same clothes for two days.”

“Good idea.” Harry shells his hoodie, carefully avoiding his dressing, and puts on the leather jacket, catching Zayn gazing at him. “What?”

“It looks good on you!” Zayn shrugs. “It was a present from my dad actually… before we could pay to line the walls of the house with leather, y’know.” Harry sniffs it appreciatively.

“I like it.” He says decisively, pulling his beanie over his fluffy hair, slipping on the sunglasses and kicking Zayn’s shoe. “Shall we?”

When they’re on the road, the conversation quickly dies out.

“Nice weather today,” Harry remarks eventually, winding down his window and yelping when his beanie was blown backwards. “Maybe not.”

Zayn snorts.

“Really? We’re making small talk about the weather?”

“I guess?”

“We’re not gonna talk about it then?” Zayn demands, instantly regretting it.

“What is there to talk about?” Harry says lightly. “I take a left here, right?”

“Harry.”

“Zayn, what is the problem? It’s fine! We’re fine,” Harry shakes his head and takes the left anyway.

“Why are you being like this?” Zayn whines, indignantly winding down his window and lighting a cigarette so he had something to do with his hands.

“Like what?”

“Like we didn’t have the argument of the century last night. Like we’re not both… _gay.”_ Zayn reminds him in hushed tones.

Harry laughs too loudly, showing all his teeth in a grimace of a grin.

“Zayn, c’mon. Nothing’s changed, right? It’s not like I’m _gay_ gay.” Harry assures him. “I just like people, and sometimes I lean more towards male people. Nobody’s 100% one way or another, yeah?” He snorts at his own pun.

“But don’t you want to be… out? And date people?” Zayn asks, incredulous that Harry was brushing his confession under the rug as casually as he’d brought it up last night.

“Simon’ll let me know when it’s time. The band’s not ready yet. And til then? It’s not a bad cop, what we’re doing. Sure, I have to let a few STD-ridden blondes sit in the passenger seat of this car when I’d rather have your company,” Zayn shifts in his seat involuntarily. “But we’re on top of the world, Zayn, you have to know it’s the wrong time to come out. Otherwise you’d have tried to.”

“I did try.” Zayn murmurs. “Why do you think they’re forcing me and Perrie together? A pretty penny for Little Mix’s new album and it chases away one fifth of the gay rumours they have to combat.”

“But I thought nobody knew, how could they have known to – “

“Simon knew. He just worked it out. He pulled all the strings, nobody else had to know. But there’s a reason it’s me with Perrie, not you, not Niall…”

“The puppet master.” Harry hisses dramatically.

“Is that why you were put with Taylor?”

“No, that was all set up by her management, bet Simon was more than happy to go along with it. So was she. Of course, they’d rather it had gone on for longer, but my image as manwhore would be tarnished somewhat if I settled down with America’s Sweetheart. It must be really fucking exhausting for them, to have all these different personas interlapping with one another when they’re trying to create an image. They should try living it,” Harry laughs bitterly, and Zayn nods in agreement, his cigarette burnt to a stub between his fingers, forgotten. “I wish we could’ve stayed away forever.” Harry says with finality, as he turns onto the motorway.

“You don’t. You’d miss it. All the glamour,” Zayn tells him, flicking his cigarette into the road and winding the window back up, leaning back into the seat.

“Maybe eventually. I just want a break, a proper one.”

“We should push them a bit harder. Management, I mean. This four day ‘break’ that we’re on now is utter bullshit. Then there’s tour. Then the next album, promo for the next album, tour for the next album, promoting the movie, it’s just…”

“No wonder you kept sneaking off.”

“I thought you loved this life.” Zayn looks hard at Harry. Of all of them, he seemed the most suited for fame. The most level-headed, the best one (other than Niall, maybe) at dealing with fans and dealing with rumours and paparazzi and fake relationships.

“I do. But…”

“That’s how it started with me. You need to find an escape,” Zayn advises him.

“Can I…” Harry trails off.

“What?”

“No, it’s nothing.”

“Tell me.”

“Can we… could you be my escape?” Harry breathes, his question hanging in the air.

Zayn doesn’t say anything for a long time. Eventually his hand snakes over to tweak Harry’s beanie.

“I suppose so. A portable haven.” He says softly, and that’s all there is to it. Harry puts on a Blind Pilot song that Zayn just ‘has to hear’ and they drive back to the hotel and Harry goes to lunch with a ‘mystery blonde’ and Zayn takes flowers to Perrie and that night, Harry knocks on the door to his hotel room, looking surprised when he actually opens it.

“Hey. Surprised you stuck around.” Harry lingers in the doorway.

“Yeah, I just… yeah.” Zayn shrugs. Shrugging seems to have become a permanent part of his behaviour, as though his shoulders have begun to do it of their own accord – a facsimile of indifference, a smear of the ‘bad boy’ image creeping into his real image.

“I’m ready to escape.” Harry blurts, and Zayn tugs him into his room, throwing a quick gaze down the hallway at where a bodyguard is probably definitely lurking. They end up lying in bed next to each other again, but the bed’s bigger and they can get right under the covers, completely buried in darkness and crisp white sheets that crunch slightly. Zayn kind of misses being so close to Harry in his single bed, but he doesn’t say anything, letting the sheets dip between them until his face is covered.

“What are you thinking about?” Harry asks, jarring Zayn.

“Just, like. How if you’re in the dark, everywhere is the same, really.”

Harry chuckles, shaking the bed with his laughter until Zayn joins in.

“Secret philosopher Zayn Malik. You never fail to surprise me.”

“No, I mean it. Like, I spent all that time trying to escape being here, when I could just, think myself somewhere else.”

“I thought you had no imagination,”

“Maybe you inspire it in me.”

“Like I inspired that drawing this morning?” Harry asks before he can stop himself, and Zayn freezes. He swears that his cheeks are growing so hot they’re probably going to set the bedsheets on fire. He imagines the headline: ‘Boybanders burn in bedroom blaze’.

“You saw that?”

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have looked. You just seemed so adamant to hide what you were doing before I came in so of course I had to see.”

“I just. You looked so peaceful when you were asleep. Younger, somehow.”

“Creep.” Harry accused, kicking at him with a sharp toe.

“Sorry.” Zayn rolls away to face the wall, willing his face to stop flushing in case Harry pulls the sheets down suddenly.

“No, I’m sorry. I just wanted to know. I liked it. I liked everything in that book. I wish I had more arms so I could have your artwork inked all over them,” Harry sighs, his aforementioned arms creeping across the bed and wrapping around Zayn until they’re pressed flush against eachother, Harry’s chin rested in between Zayn’s shoulder blades in a way that probably shouldn’t be comfortable but somehow is. “Can I stay here tonight?”

“Yeah,” Zayn doesn’t even think twice about it and as they shimmy into their underwear and resume spooning with the lights out, he can’t help remembering his comment about how everywhere looks the same in the dark (and hey, wasn’t that a McFly song?) and how this particular breed of darkness, with Harry’s arms around his waist and Harry’s breath on his neck, feels a lot more like home than anywhere else in the world these days.

· * *

The next morning Zayn’s happy to see Harry is still sleeping happily beside him, cheek smushed into a pillow and one arm still tightly wound around Zayn, new tattoo peeking out of the dressing. Zayn wriggles into a sitting position and starts checking his e-mails and sending a few tweets, knowing that somewhere out there Simon Cowell is probably throwing darts at a blown up photograph of his face. Harry wakes up as Zayn is trying his best to send a promotional tweet about Little Mix’s new single but struggling as he doesn’t even know the name of it.

“Mmmmmmmrrrft.” Harry nuzzles into Zayn’s hip, slowly stretching out with a few pops of his back which Zayn shudders at. “What ya doin?”

“Morning. Just tweeting, thought it’d be good to y’know, not go off grid completely.”

“Good call. What’s on the schedule for today?”

“Well, I have to go to the Little Mix single launch, whatever that is… you could come if you want? Then I thought maybe we’d go to dinner with the lads and I could, er, come clean.”

“You mean, out?” Harry sits upright, eyes searching Zayn’s face.

“I mean, just tell them everything. Yeah, the Adam stuff, but the house stuff and the management stuff. It might not be the world, but it’s a start, right? I mean, I told you, and the world didn’t explode.”

Harry rests his head on Zayn’s chest sleepily. “Yeah. Maybe they’re all harbouring homosexual tendencies too.” He deadpans, tweaking a nipple fondly.

“Oi.” Zayn slaps his hand away.

“I think I might tell them too. Y’know. We can just get it out there. They’re our friends.”

“They’ll think we’re fucking,” Zayn says anxiously.

“Oh well. You’re not the worst person that they’ve thought I was sleeping with. It’ll be okay. I think it’s a good idea.” 

But as Zayn sent Liam, Louis and Niall the same quick text checking if they free for dinner, it was beginning to feel like the most terrifying idea in the world.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One went out when uncle Ben got his tumor   
> We used to fish and I fish no more   
> Though we will not return   
> I know one still burns   
> On a fishing boat of the New Jersey Shore   
> On a fishing boat of the New Jersey Shore.

Zayn fiddles with his fork nervously, eyes darting around the private booth every few seconds. It’s a classy restaurant and there’s no way the staff’d let anyone know that they had a world-famous boyband dining under their roof (at least, not until after they’d left). Harry’s the first to arrive, looking showered and fresh as a daisy in a blazer and impossibly tight jeans as he slides into the booth next to Zayn. He flashes a smile at a pretty waitress, who bounds over with a bottle of wine and a radiant beam. 

“Anything I can help you with, sir?” she asks, smoothing her apron in a practiced gesture.

“No, we’re good. Thanks, love.” Harry replies, turning to grin at Zayn as the poor girl walks off in a daze. Zayn shakes his head in disbelief.

“What are you doing?” he chuckles. “The papers’d love it! Styles the womanizer strikes again.”

“Let her tell them then, I’m sure they’ll be quick to believe it.” Harry pours a sizeable volume of wine into his empty glass before offering Zayn the bottle. Zayn waves it away, antsy.

“I want to do this sober. Shit, there’s Liam. Shit, and Niall! Shit. Yeah. Give me some of that.”

“Laaad.” Harry responds, pouring an equal amount of wine into Zayn’s glass. “Chin chin.” He raises a mock toast, taking a deep glug as Liam reaches the table.

“Toasting already? What are we celebrating?” He asks, feigning indifference, though Zayn could already see cogs turning in his head as Niall bounds over and slides into a seat, tugging Liam in next to him.

“Not exactly celebrating,” Zayn mutters, tweaking his quiff for the thousandth time and sipping the wine as Louis materialises in front of them.

“Laaaaaaads!” he announces. “I have arrived.”

“Right then. Shall we order?” Liam is casting furtive glances between Harry and Zayn, as they shift closer to accommodate Louis in the booth. Harry’s hand rests on Zayn’s thigh comfortingly, and Liam’s eyes follow the movement, narrowing in confusion.

“Yeah, let’s.” They call over the same waitress, who flutters her eyelashes at Niall and asks him if he’d prefer Nando’s. Niall shakes his head good-naturedly, placing his order and staring firmly at the table.

“Fan, d’ya think?” Louis jokes, kicking Niall under the table after she leaves, hips sashaying unnaturally.

“Or maybe she just really likes Nando’s.” Niall sticks his tongue out at Louis. “Pints?” He offers, and Zayn and Harry raise their full glasses in response. “Oh.”

“Guys, what is going on?” Liam demands.

“Ehhh.” Harry dithers.

“I’m gay.” Zayn says simply.

“Me too. Maybe a bit.” Harry adds.

“But we’re not… we don’t gay each other.”

“No, it’s two separate… gays.”

They all stare at each other for a full minute.

“Is this a joke?” Louis asks slowly. Harry shakes his head, crestfallen. “Guess there was some truth to those ‘evidence’ blogs then!” His face contorts slightly before happiness falls on his features, eyes crinkling. “I’m dead happy for you. Whether you’re gaying each other or not.”

“Thanks, man.” Zayn says meekly, eyes falling on Niall and Liam next. Liam sat in stony silence while Niall seemed vaguely confused by the notion of homosexuality altogether.

“Cool with me, man, as long as you’re happy.” Niall says finally. “But we’ll still have pints, yeah?”

“Yeah, we’re the same people we were a minute ago, Niall.” Harry breaks out in a smile.

“Li?” Zayn asks quietly.

“Have you told the papers?” Liam responds, his voice cool and level.

“Nah, but –”

“Don’t. Simon’ll sort it, don’t worry.” Liam says quickly, whipping his iPhone out of his pocket and typing a message.

“Liam?” Harry reaches across and squeezes his hand. Liam flinches but allows the touch, lowering his phone back to the table, text message forgotten as he meets Harry’s pleading eyes. “What’s wrong?”

“They… you s-saw what they said to that fan on Louis’s twitter when they were calling him gay. They won’t let you come out, you can’t – people’ll get hurt.” Liam whispers. “You’ll get hurt. The band’ll get hurt. The fans…”

“Look, it’s fine. As far as they know, Zayn’s with Perrie and I’m with anything 5”9 and blonde.”

“Simon should know. He’ll know what to do.” Liam persists, pushing his phone across the table to Harry and Zayn, who stare at it as though it’s a bomb about to explode.

“He does. And we’re doing it.”

“Then why tell us?” Louis asks.

“Because you’re our friends.” Zayn shrugs.

“Best friends!” Harry corrects, as the waitress returns with their food. “Great, thanks pal.” Harry picks up a fork and stabs a chip, signalling the end of the conversation.

“This looks amazing,” Liam smiles politely, waiting for the waitress to leave. “Thanks,” he calls to her retreating back, putting a skip in her step. “Okay. I’m fine with it, do what you want. Just be careful, yeah? You know what they’re like, they’ll crush you.” Liam warns, and though he didn’t clarify whether ‘they’ was their management, or their fans, or the media, it felt like a huge cloud was looming over Zayn and Harry, waiting for them to slip up so the heavens could open and they could be doused in criticism and hatred.

\- - -

They finish their meals silently, Liam’s final words hanging in the air. When they head back to the hotel in separate taxis and cars to avoid a paparazzi situation, Louis slips into Harry’s car.

“Hey.” He says softly. “I just wanted you to know that I’m not… I didn’t distance myself from you because I thought you were… just, the rumours- Eleanor- I just didn’t want them to hurt her.” There it is again, the unclear ‘them’ stepping in.

“I get it, it’s fine,” Harry focuses on the road in front of him, ears turning pink.

“Good. You’re still my best friend, even if I’m not climbing all over you all the time any more... I’m really happy for you and Zayn. You deserve someone like him,”

“What?” Harry nearly drives into the car in front and receives a long, drawn out beep in response.

“You know. I saw… the thigh. Liam saw the thigh. Christ, _Niall_ saw the thigh over his giant ice cream sundae! We all saw the thigh.”

“What thigh?!” Harry splutters.

“You kept like… stroking his thigh for the entire duration of the meal. C’mon, you ate your steak whole off the end of your fork because you didn’t have a spare hand to cut it up with! Did you think we’re all oblivious?” Louis points out, snorting. “It’s okay though! I know you two won’t let anything that goes on in the bedroom destroy the band.”

“Louis, you’ve got the wrong end of the stick! We’re not together. I promise you.”

“Why not?” Louis asks, put out.

“Because just because two guys are gay and _know_ each other doesn’t mean that they have to start going out.” Harry’s voice goes impossibly high.

“I know, but it just seemed like – “ Louis backtracks.

“What?”

“It just seemed different between you two. Intense. How did you even find out?”

“It er… slipped out.” Harry mutters, not wanting to blow all of Zayn’s secrets.

“You sly ol’ dog.” Louis cackles. “I knew it. You made a move on our Bradford Bad Boy.”

“Don’t make me use the name, Lou.” Harry narrows his eyes, pulling up in the service car park of the hotel so they can go in through the back and avoid any trouble in the reception.

“Nooooooooo!” Louis laughs, flashing white teeth. Harry smiles happily, wondering why he was ever afraid to tell the boys in the first place. It feels just like before, Louis teasing him - except instead of it being about Caroline or Taylor, it's about Zayn. And it feels... right. Like the world hasn't stopped turning because people found out. 

 

\- - -

A similar scene had unfurled between Niall and Zayn, Niall appearing at Zayn’s hotel room door with a couple of cans of Strongbow and a copy of Gay Times magazine.

“Present.” He announces, brandishing them proudly. 

“What on earth…” Zayn scratches his head and grabs the magazine. “…is this?” He flicks through it, eyebrows shooting up at the back pages.

“Yeah, who knew a guy could bend like that?” Niall laughs, pushing the magazine closed again and feigning a similar bend. “Can I come in?”

“Sure,” Zayn leant back on the door. Niall seemed surprised by the ease of admission, and Zayn feels icy fingers of guilt creeping across the pit of his stomach as he realises once again that he spent the best part of the last three years pushing away and running from the people who just wanted to be around him. Niall cracks open a can and passes it to Zayn, pulling the curtains and letting out a low whistle.

“Wow, you got a great view.” Niall comments, swigging from his own can. “All I can see out of mine is a park.”

“Niall, that’s a park there as well.” 

“Yeah, but it’s a nicer park!" Zayn laughs and stretches out across the bed, pulling his phone out of his pocket.

“Shall I get the lads to come over?”

“Actually, no.” Niall turned to Zayn, his face unreadable. “I wanted to have a chat with you about our Harry.”

Zayn blinks.

“What did he say?!” Zayn asks casually, sipping slowly from the can and regarding Niall, who is getting shiftier and shiftier by the second.

“Nothing, but I saw him stroking your leg under the table, and I know you said you weren’t like… but maybe you… are?” He trails off. “Or not.”

“Don’t be stupid!” Zayn laughs. “We’d tell you if we were!” There it is again, the suggestion that something not-completely-platonic is happening between him and Harry, the niggling thought that has been festering in his mind since “don’t wait too long” – or was it before? The lines are becoming blurrier and blurrier.

“What, like you told us you were gay?” Niall retorts, turning back to the window. Zayn rarely sees Niall angry – it’s kind of unnerving to behold, but he can sense the tension rising between them, the muscles in Niall’s shoulders taut.

“That’s not fair.”

“I just want you to talk to me! I thought we were the five of us against the world.” Niall says, and if anyone else had said it it’d’ve sounded like the cheesy tagline on a documentary about their lives, but in his voice it sounds like Niall really believes it.

“We are. I want to tell you everything – and I will. One day. It’s just… a bit raw at the moment. C’mon, I’ll show you this band me and Harry discovered this morning,” Zayn offers, his eyes pleading.

Niall smiles, and Zayn’s shoulders sink in relief. Everything is okay. Niall leaves an hour later, a skip in his step as he promises to come back tomorrow morning with breakfast and more ‘reading material’.

Zayn realises he’s starting to hate sleeping alone, as he stretches out in his bed and doesn’t allow himself to wish that his fingers were coming into contact with Harry’s soft, inked skin. He gets up and walks to the door about 7 times, before flopping back into bed with a sigh, figuring if Harry wanted to see him, he’d’ve come over himself. It wasn’t like they were together – Harry didn’t owe Zayn anything. But still, Zayn placed his phone on the pillow beside him as he fell into an uneasy sleep, dreaming of hands exploring thighs and not-quite-kisses and oddly flexible faceless men.

Somewhere on the floor below, Liam is in a late night Skype call with Simon Cowell himself, hands digging through schedules covered in red pen and head full of worry.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're born with millions of little lights shining in the dark  
> And they show us the way.

Morning brings an urgent meeting in the lobby of the hotel. Zayn and Harry exchange grim looks with Niall and Louis and Liam’s nowhere to be seen. A few members of management and security are milling around, tapping messages into iPhones and exchanging confused glances with eachother. Liam rocks up 5 minutes late, MacBook under one arm, soft smile on his face.

“Lads,” he nods, and it sounds false in his bright morning tone. He plops the laptop down and a tired-looking Simon Cowell blinks at them from onscreen. The management members suddenly file out of the room, leaving the five boys staring awkwardly at a laptop.

“Lads,” Simon adds, his voice grave. “Liam, turn me to Harry and Zayn.” He says, and Niall sniggers at how ludicrous it all is, before receiving a swift kick in the shin from Louis’ direction.

“Alright?” Harry raises his head from his folded arms, where it’s been drooped since Liam entered. He spent the previous night drinking his way through the mini-bar and forcing himself not to go on one of his night-time jaunts into Zayn’s bed, Louis’s words still fresh in his mind. He was definitely going to keep his hands to himself from now on. Even though Zayn is sitting next to him looking so sad and tired and confused and his hair is all mussed. He laces his fingers together tightly in front of him, strengthening his resolve.

“I’m fine.” Simon responds, not really putting any emotion into his voice. “Now, Liam came to me last night with an issue, and although the current setup is working fine, Liam pointed out that you deserve a choice.” Harry and Zayn sit up a little straighter and Liam shrugs, smiling a small, guilty smile. “So here it is: Zayn can come out – you’ll have to fake some sort of bisexuality revelation to protect Little Mix’s reputation, Zayn, but Liam has agreed to propose to Danielle so the focus is pulled from you should you choose to do so.”

“Or?” Zayn pushes.

“Or you stick with Perrie, help them break America next month, force a smile and maybe in the future there’ll be a better slot for you to come out.”

“And Harry?” Louis cuts in, pushing the laptop round so they’re all able to see the window in the centre of the screen.

“Harry can’t.” Simon says quickly, looking slightly uncomfortable. “Like it or not, he’s the recognisable face of the band – we’ve worked too hard on his reputation to let it come crashing down, there’d be an outrage. We can – we can settle him down with a fan or something and you can date whoever you want subtly but there’s just no way you can start screaming you like cock from the rooftop.” The boys are taken aback by Simon’s brashness, the vulgarity sounding wrong coming from his voice. “I’m sorry, boys. Like it or lump it.”

“That’s not fair,” Niall protests. “Liam?” He pleads.

“I don’t want to do it if Harry can’t,” Zayn mutters. “And I can’t ask Liam to throw his entire life into Danielle –”

“Well, really, I think it might be good for business. Union J are getting an edge on this band by having a gay member. Think about it, we’ll reassess soon. I’ll be in touch.” Simon cuts in, eyes shifting to something offscreen. “Oh, and Harry, Zayn, I hope I don’t have to remind you of the fraternizing clause in the contract? No inter-band dating. I hope circumstances haven’t changed.”

“Of course not,” Harry responds quickly, his first interaction with Simon since greeting his pixelated face. “That’d be breaking the contract, right?”

“Good. It won’t be a problem.” Simon says, and it sounds vaguely threatening so they all nod.

“Bye boys. Call if you need anything.” He’s waving, and they’re forcing smiles and thanking him and then he’s gone and all hell breaks loose.

“What the fuck, Liam?” Louis rounds on him. “You had no right to go running to Simon,”

“He already knew!” Liam folds his arms defensively, shrinking in on himself. “I’m trying to help!”

“You’re trying to get us all sued!” Louis accuses, walking to the water dispenser and pushing the button aggressively.

“Lou,” Harry says softly. “Stop. I get it. Thanks, Liam. I appreciate what you’re trying to do here,”

“Yeah, thanks Li.” Zayn adds.

“So, what are you gonna do?”

“I guess we just wait it out, see what happens. You shouldn’t have to put a rush on your relationship just because of ours.” Zayn shrugs, and Harry’s shoulders seize up at his choice of words.

“Off to America day after tomorrow, then,” Liam realises, surprised. “Doesn’t seem real.” Their tour in America was visiting stadiums and arenas in almost every state. “Are you gonna go see your family, Zayn? Harry? Maybe they could shed some light?”

“Yeah, maybe.” Harry says, his eyes distant. A member of management comes in and touches Louis’s arm, telling him that Eleanor’s outside. He excuses himself, miming a phone in Harry and Zayn’s direction and waving forlornly before disappearing.

“And then there were four.” Niall says ominously, trying to lighten the mood.

“Yeah. I’m gonna call Danielle if that’s okay? Just… to forewarn. Is that okay?” Liam pulls out his phone without waiting for an answer and disappears, his MacBook left forgotten and open on the table. Niall pulls it to himself and starts typing into it, snickering about “revenge frape” and Harry and Zayn take this as their cue to excuse themselves. Niall calls after them a last “it’s gonna be okay, you guys,” and he has this strange way of making them believe it.

“Hey, you alright?” Zayn asks when they’re alone in the elevator.

“Fine.” Harry mutters. “You?”

“Yeah. Well, been better. Are you going home?”

“Might as well. Wanna see my mum before we go, she’s not flying out for a month or so, and Gemma hasn’t even sorted out when she’s coming,” Harry explains. “Are you?”

“I saw my family a few days ago – they came to the house for a proper goodbye…” Zayn trails off, still so uneasy with telling the truth.

“Come back with me? Might be nice to get a home cooked meal and some semblance of sanity, before we get flown back into crazy town.”

“If you don’t mind, that’d be nice.”

“Of course I don’t. I impinged on your world, it’s time for you to impinge on mine. At least when Simon asks where you are I won’t have to lie terribly to his face again.” He pauses. “Wow, America. It’s so crazy.”

“I don’t want Simon to think I’m ungrateful.” Zayn blurts.

“Huh?” Harry asks as the lift doors open and they step out on their floor.

“Everything we have, everything we’ve worked for – I don’t want him to think I don’t appreciate it because I do. This life is the best thing that ever - you know.”

“Yeah, I know. But you shouldn’t have to sacrifice everything that you are. I shouldn’t have to sacrifice everything that I am.” Harry bumps Zayn’s hip fondly as they stop at his door. “You coming, then?”

“Yeah.” Zayn nods. After throwing some necessary items into a bag and texting one of their management team with a plea for them to sort out the rest, he finds himself looking around the uninspiringly decorated suite like he was a character in a sitcom about to switch off the light and end the series. He shakes off the feeling. Just another hotel, just another memory.

“You ready to go?” Harry’s curly head pops round the door, dimples out in full force. “I just got told about this amazing band by Nick. They’re part R’n’B, part indie, and they have this killer drummer. You’re gonna love them, promise.” Harry waves a CD in Zayn’s face.

“You have an iPhone and yet you’re still burning CDs. You never cease to amaze.”

“Well, I do try. Quite hard, to be honest. Coming?” Harry ducks out again, not waiting for an answer. Zayn follows, slinging a messenger bag over his shoulder and switching his phone off.

“All yours.” Zayn says, sincerely.

· * *

Two hours and one terrible, terrible R’n’B indie fusion CD later, they’re nearly in Cheshire and Harry is dictating some seriously odd tweets for Zayn to send from both of their accounts.

“How about something about ‘riding the rollercoasters that are life… for real”?’ and then posting a picture of that road sign?” Harry laughs, nodding at a sign for Alton Towers.

“I wish. It’s been so long since we did something normal without getting mobbed.”

“Yeah. I get why you’d rather sit in a house on your own... scintillating.” Harry frowns, then starts to smile. “Call management, I’ve got a plan.” Zayn complies, putting the call to Simon’s office on speakerphone.

“Hello Zayn,” a woman’s cheerful voice answers. “Sandra here, everything alright?” Slightly perturbed by her friendly tone.

“Err, yeah.” Harry cuts in. “It’s Harry. I was wondering if you could get through to Alton Towers and see if we could pop by, after hours? Just me, mum and Robin, Gemma… Zayn. Would that be okay?”

“I’ll get right on it! I can’t see why it’d be a problem. Oh, you might want to send a tweet or something, just to butter them up. I’ll email you the outcome, anything else I can sort out for you? Oh, and Zayn, Perrie’s been on the phone, can you send a tweet or something to her too? If you’re not going with the – yeah.” Sandra sounds slightly strained but still polite as she struggles to decide what she can and can’t say.

“That’s all. Thanks, Sandra.” Harry says, indicating Zayn should hang up with a swift chop under his neck. He smiled at Zayn. “Not long til we’re home,” he promises. “Now, what else has Nick recommended?”

“Oh please no,” Zayn protests, tapping out a vague tweet with the lyrics to a Little Mix album track and a smiley face. “Poor Perrie.” He shows Harry the tweet and frowns, hundreds of responses already popping up with varying reactions.

“Riding on your coat tails? Don’t hear her complaining.”

Guilt sets in strongly as he thinks about sad little Geordie Perrie, wondering why the boy they’re paying to go out with her doesn’t want to be with her.

“Look, they’re already going off at her – ‘why are you tweeting about the fat slut’, ‘hi management’, ‘murder my vagi- oh.” Zayn closes the tab swiftly. “She’s not even fat. They’re supposed to support us. I can’t imagine a world where us coming out as anything other than heterosexual males ready to date 10 million fans simultaneously is going to be well received, no matter what Simon thinks it’ll do for business.”

“They called Taylor stuff like that too. But the good stuff’ll outweigh the bad. In a couple of weeks, Little Mix’ll be in America with us, and with your help they’ll be able to stand on their own two- eight feet. Stop worrying.”

“How are you so chill about all this?”

“I’m just over it. What happens happens and whatever fans that we have left after the chips fall are the ones we should care about anyway. Let management squabble over the money, I care about people. So do you, I know you do. Put some music on?” Harry requests, eyes fixed on the road. “Not long til we’re home.” He repeats. Zayn finds an old David Bowie album in Harry’s glovebox and they turn it up loud, ending the conversation that neither of them wants to have again.

· * *

When they finally pull up to Harry’s mum’s house in Holmes Chapel, they both heave simultaneous sighs of relief.

“We’re here,” Harry says needlessly.

“God, how long has it been?” Zayn scratches the stubble beginning to grow on his chin.

“Too long.” Harry smiles softly as Anne runs down the driveway to greet them. She practically wrestles the passenger door open and pulls Zayn out, barely giving him time to unplug his seatbelt.

“Zayn!” She cries ecstatically. “I was beginning to think we’d never see you again!” She hugs him warmly and Zayn smiles, hugging back awkwardly and inhaling a sniff of the Styles family scent, comforting and nostalgic, like burying your head deeply into Harry’s curls. (Not that Zayn ever does that.)

“Sorry.” Zayn says meekly. “Been busy…”

“I understand.” Anne says fondly. “I wish you’d’ve given me some warning. Harry always says he’s gonna bring you back and then he never does!”

Gemma pads out of the house, hair wrapped in a towel, feet bare. “Hey Zayn! What are you doing here? I was starting to think they’d replaced you with a hologram!”

“Has it really been that long?” Zayn asks, his tone apologetic as he goes over to hug Gemma.

“Feels like forever.” Harry bounds over to his mother and envelopes her in a massive hug, before shuffling her across to Zayn and Gemma so they can hug awkwardly as a group.

“Get the kettle on then, mum.” Harry demands. “I’m gonna show Zayn the bungalow!”

“Err, I’ve seen the bungalow…” Zayn reminds him.

“You’ve been gone for a long time.” Harry says mysteriously, lacing his fingers with Zayn’s and tugging him through the side gate, doing his best to ignore the excited glances that Gemma and Anne were exchanging.

“It looks the same,” Zayn gazes at the building that they built their friendships in, and smiles. It seems smaller somehow. 

“C’mon,” Harry says excitedly, pulling him inside. Zayn blinks, taking it all in. Where a blue painting used to be, a framed photo of One Direction was hanging pride of place. Zayn remembers that day – they had performed at the VMAs in America. He smirks at the blonde streak in his hair. The walls are packed with platinum records – from their singles, their albums, their DVD even.

“Woah.” Zayn lets out a low whistle.

“Yeah. I just wanted you to see that even though a lot of bad came from everything that’s happened to us, so much good has happened. And it’s your doing. Well, a fifth of it is your doing.”

“It’s different,” Zayn seems slightly put out, sinking into the sofa which is thankfully the exact same one that they all sat on years ago when they were trying to come up with a name.

“Yeah, well, things change.” Harry reasons, flopping down next to Zayn.

“You’ve been very philosophic today.” Zayn observes.

“Yeah well, had a lot of time to think last night.”

“You didn’t come over,” Zayn tries to sound casual and instead comes off sounding like a whiny girlfriend.

“Yeah, well, Lou said that it was starting to look like we were… an item, and I just wanted to get some head space.” Harry admits slowly, eyes searching Zayn’s face for a reaction.

“Oh, you too? Niall gave me a lecture.” Zayn says nonchalantly. “How funny.”

“Funny?” Harry echoes.

“Yeah. I mean, it’s so against the rules. It’s not like two guys who happen to like guys have to –”

“That’s exactly what I said!” Harry cuts in. “Still, it wouldn’t be the worst thing…”

Zayn’s about to ask him what he means by that when a knock comes at the door.

“You decent?” Anne calls.

“As I’ll ever be!” Harry says jovially, crossing the room to let her in.

“I’ve made you some cups of tea. Come on, me and Gem are watching Gilmore Girls.”

“Oh, great!” Harry disappears. Zayn blinks in confusion and follows him inside, Anne smiling proudly into the bungalow before shutting the door behind them.

“Harry loves Gilmore Girls. It makes him feel cultured.” She explains, passing Zayn a mug of tea. Zayn holds it up and sees his own face glaring back at him. He looks at Anne in exasperation.

“Sorry. Dishwasher’s on.” She raises her own mug, with Liam’s face on. Gemma and Harry squabble over the Louis mug before Harry upends the sugar bowl into it and Gemma stands down, picking up the Harry mug and returning to the living room, grumbling. They settle down to watch TV and Zayn feels more at home than he has in weeks.

It feels like the beginning again, and though he misses the other boys, the bond that he and Harry have started to share is stronger than he’d ever anticipated. He remembers at the start of the X Factor wanting to keep these boys at arms distance, stop himself getting hurt if they went out or split up. He realises now, looking round at Harry and Gemma (who is still complaining that she doesn’t want to drink out of the Harry mug) and Anne smiling back, that any attempt to not form attachments with them were futile, because Harry’s family are his own family.

He regrets not coming to visit them, but at least they’re not holding it against him. In fact, he feels more welcome than ever. He can’t help but wonder what they know, though. How often does Harry check in? Would he spill the truth? Had he already?

“So, are you two like a thing now?” Gemma asks casually, taking a furtive sip and answering all of Zayn’s questions.

“What?” Harry demands. “No!”

“Methinks the lady doth protest too much.” Gemma winks at Zayn. “It’s cool. We belieeeve you.”

“Mum! Make her stop!” Harry whinges.

“Gemma, don’t tease your brother. He’ll tell us when he’s ready.”

Zayn coughs and excuses himself, shutting himself in the bathroom and pulling out his phone. He scrolls desperately through his contacts, fingers trembling. He wants someone to talk to, anyone who knows what he’s going through. Adam’s face pops up in his mind and he shakes his head, feeling suddenly alone. He notices One Direction soap on the side of the sink and picks it up, turning it over and over in his hands and marvelling at his life. Eventually, Harry knocks at the door. Zayn doesn’t know if it’s been 2 minutes or 2 hours.

“Can I come in?” His voice comes through clearly.

“Yeah,” Zayn rasps. When did he start crying?

Harry squeezes in and looms over Zayn, long limbs everywhere at once.

“You okay?” He asks eventually.

“Not sure.”

“Was it what Gemma said?”

“No, of course not, I’m just – I’m so confused right now, I keep thinking about what Liam offered to do for me and I wish he could do it for you . You’re so together about all this and I just can’t… deal…”

“You don’t have to deal! It’s tough. It’s gonna be tough but there’s no rush. What was it you said… lie back and enjoy the rollercoaster that is life?”

“Fuck off.” Zayn retorts, but he’s smiling and the tears are almost forgotten.

“Speaking of rollercoasters, they sorted Alton Towers for us. It closes at 6pm and then we’ll have it to ourselves. Gem’s gonna bring some friends, I asked Niall and Liam and Lou – it’ll be like old times. No hats and sunglasses necessary, right?”

“Right. Normal.” Zayn agrees. Harry leans in and plants a kiss on his forehead, before stepping back.

“Was that too much?”

“No, you’re perfect. Let’s go finish Gilmore Girls.” 

Zayn smiles again and follows Harry back into the lounge, and it feels less like an interrogation with Gemma disappeared to call her friends and Anne reading a magazine. He finishes his cup of tea with Harry's head in his lap, carding his fingers through Harry's curls as Harry tries his best to quote along with the fast-talking Americans onscreen. 

Anne looks up every few minutes and smiles a secret smile to herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so, so, so sorry it took so long for me to update. And that this update is mediocre and short. I have next to no inspiration and I've had exams and we're selling our house and I've been chasing Nick Grimshaw around London but those are stories that you don't really need to hear, I made a commitment when I uploaded these to keep them updated and I haven't. I promise you will never have to wait this long again, thank you for sticking with me or if you're new, thank you for reading this far, and I promise if you stick with me I will update promptly (I am now on break from Uni for like 4 months so I haven't got much else to do ;) Anyway, yes thank you, see you in the next few days hopefully. If not, feel free to comment and give me a swift kick in the foof. Cheers pals! Thanks again, I really do appreciate it


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One lights up every time you feel love in your heart...

A few hours later and Zayn and Harry are pulling up into the abandoned Alton Towers car park, the sun starting to set, turning the sky an angry red.

“This looks like the start of every horror movie ever.” Harry says ominously as he eagerly bounds out of the car. Gemma laughs from the back seat, making a remark about how Harry has never watched a horror movie in his life to her boyfriend Mark.

Mark sits in silence in the backseat, as though he knew Gemma was Harry’s brother abstractly, but never actually expected to be in a car with him. As they approach the gates, Gemma falls into step with Harry, leaving Zayn and Mark tagging along behind.

“So, our first double date!” Gemma eagerly points out.

“I’m not on a date with Zayn. And Lou and Eleanor might be coming down later, maybe even Perrie to get some publicity, Liam if he’s around… it’s more of a band outing!” Harry protests, shoving Gemma.

“All I see is myself, my boyfriend, you, and Zayn.” Gemma states insolently.

“They’ll be here later.” Harry grumbles, rolling his eyes. Gemma lingers back to catch Mark’s fingers and twine the, and Harry catches sight of the four of them together in a window as they pass. They do look like they’re in awkward first date territory. Hastily, Harry pulls his phone out and sends follow up texts to the rest of the band.

Niall sends back an almost unintelligible text ‘goin t mgar! See tha lads! Ride air fa me!’ confirming his absence was permanent, and Louis promised he’d try his best to be there just as soon as he’d convinced Eleanor to come too – something about a dodgy home ombre kit situation and a last-minute trip to their stylist before any pictures could be taken of them. The only person who had actually confirmed that they were coming was Perrie, who had sent Zayn an ominous ‘okay, we need to talk’ with three frowny faces and two kisses.

The woman on the gate gives them a nod and lets them through without changing her facial expression and Zayn hesitates as they walk in, suddenly aware of all the heights and water and general danger, and stepping closer to Harry. Harry stifles a grin and loosely slings an arm over Zayn’s shoulder, ignoring Gemma’s look of triumph.

“Scared, Zaynie?” Harry asks.

“Nah, dunno, just, a bit creepy, right?”

“Like a horror movie.” Harry repeats ominously. “Come on, last pap-free day we’ll have for god knows how long!” Zayn cracks a smile at this and allows himself to be tugged down the winding, empty barriers and straight onto the nearest rollercoaster. **

The ride operator, a waifish ginger girl, stares frozen at Harry for a solid minute before coming to her senses to strap them into their seats and wave them off. The ride ticks upwards eerily and Harry and Zayn exchange glances, looking down at Gemma and Mark growing smaller below them.

“Ready?” Harry asks, as they rounded a corner.

“Ready.” Zayn instinctively grabs Harry’s hand, and as they stop a moment at the top of the plummet, he sees Perrie’s head of pink hair entering the park, squinting up at him. Before he has a chance to say anything to Harry, they’re dropping down vertically and Harry’s screaming next to him and his stomach’s in his mouth and he’s never been more terrified in his life.

As they stagger off, Harry’s hair askew and pupils blown wide, Zayn grabs his arm.

“Perrie just arrived.” He hisses through his teeth.

“I saw, not many people could miss the hair.” Harry comments. “So, not really the right moment to ask this, but did you think any more about Liam’s offer?”

“I did. I thought about nothing else, really. Apart from that time we were watching Gilmore Girls where I had to pay attention to them talking.”

“Ahh. And?”

“I don’t want to lie to the fans any more. But I don’t want Liam to have to lie, and I don’t want you to have to lie.”

“What about Perrie? Lying seems to have been quite beneficial to her.” Harry grumbles, fixing his hair absently.

“She’s a nice girl. She deserves… something.” Zayn replies as she walks up to them, effectively ending their conversation.

“Hey.” Harry greets Perrie with a hug and a smile that stops before it reaches his eyes.

“Hiya Harry." She pauses for just a long enough moment to be polite, before adding a "Zayn, can we chat?” 

Harry nods, before backing away to ‘see how the ride photo came out’, casting an apologetic look at Zayn as he leaves.

“Y’alright?” Zayn grunts, attempting to embody the epitome of his Bradford Bad Boy reputation.

“Liam called.” Perrie says shortly, folding her arms as Zayn dithers in front of her. “Told me the plan.” She adds.

“Look, Perrie, I know what I signed, and I promise that if anything happens, nobody will ever kno-”

“I think you should do it. Come out, I mean.” Perrie interrupts.

“What?” Zayn flinches, disbelieving.

“…I met someone.” Perrie admits. “I’ve been seeing him for three months.”

“You… you what?” Zayn splutters, eyes widening in surprise.

“If you do come out, it works for everyone! My way, the press’ll have something else to focus on while you sort everything else out, and I won’t feel so weird about you and Harry – ”

“It doesn’t work for Liam! It doesn’t work for Har- what about me and Harry?” The entire situation feels completely ludicrous and more like an episode of Hollyoaks than his actual life.

“You’re together, right? I can tell.” Perrie says knowingly.

“Well apparently, so can everyone else. But we’re not together. Even if we wanted – even if he wanted to, we’d be breaching the contract we signed.”

“Breaching the contract like terminating your relationship with me? Breaching the contract like disappearing when you’re supposed to be with me?” Perrie presses. Zayn looks down, guilty as charged. “Hey, I’m on your side. I won’t forget that you played your part the best you could but now it’s time for the Zerrie show to conclude.”

“It’s not really your call, is it?” Zayn points out.

“I won’t make you miserable. We can call it distance issues, hell, I’ll even let the cheating rumours circulate around me for once. Everything is your choice, Zayn. The world’s at your feet.” Perrie says, and it seems so dramatic that Zayn has to stifle a laugh. He steps forward and embraces her, hyperaware that this is the first physical contact he’s ever made with her when there are no cameras around. She relaxes into the hug.

“Thanks,” Zayn mumbles into her hair, getting a mouthful of hairspray for his trouble.

“So you’ll think about it?”

“Definitely.”

“Can we go on rides now?” Perrie asks, pulling away and tweaking the string of Zayn’s hoodie eagerly.

“Sure.”

A grainy picture of them hugging makes it to the Daily Mail website, but the picture of himself and Harry taken as the ride is about to plummet down is the one Zayn sets as his phone background.

· * *

For the majority of their last day in the UK, Zayn perches on the end of Harry’s bed as Harry desperately roots through his belongings, trying to decide what he wants to take to America with him. Anne cries at least 7 times, Gemma cries twice and Harry even wells up while zipping his suitcase with finality around 10pm.

“It’s just so weird. I feel too young for all this.” A solitary tear drips down Harry’s cheek. “What do I do when I can’t come back here or see my mum or Gem? What are you gonna do when you can’t sneak off?”

“Talk to you.” Zayn says simply, as though it was the only possible answer he could’ve given. Harry cracks a small smile, casting watery eyes in Zayn’s direction.

“Sleep in here tonight, yeah?” Harry pleads.

Zayn had spent the night after Alton Towers sleeping on the sofa, conking out the minute they had traipsed through the door. He was so exhausted that he hadn’t had time to miss Harry’s warmth next to him.

“Sure,” Zayn says, stretching out on the bed, t-shirt riding up to expose his stomach. Harry flops down next to him. “It’ll be like old times, except without the guys sneaking in to serenade us about McDonalds.”

Harry chuckles and after a few minutes of silence, turns to prop himself on one elbow and look at Zayn properly.

“We can’t avoid it forever… what’s the plan?”

“Plan?” Zayn feigns innocence, poking at Harry’s new tattoo absently, turning it in the light to look closely at it.

“Are you gonna take Liam up on his offer?” Harry shifts so his other arm is resting across Zayn’s chest.

“Yeah. Eventually. Maybe?” Zayn says noncommittally, faking a yawn. Harry’s eyes light up.

“This is so cool. Think of the people they can make you date for publicity. All the male models. The Star Trek guy. That guy from Glee. Oh my god. You are so lucky.” He points out, trying to lighten the mood. When Zayn doesn’t react, Harry’s face falls. “You tired or something?”

“Yeah, tired.” Zayn mumbles. “Is it too early to go to bed?”

“Nah, they’re picking us up early, right?”

“Right.” Zayn confirms forlornly.

“Okay… I’m gonna go, brush my teeth and stuff.” Harry scampers out, casting a concerned glance back at Zayn. Once he’s alone, he leans back on the bathroom door and inhales deeply, trying to cling to some semblance of home. Similarly, Zayn rolls over and buries his face in Harry’s pillow, wishing he could stay here forever.

When they’re both stripped down to their underwear lying in the dark, Harry allows his vulnerabilities to bubble up to the surface.

“Please don’t close yourself off again.” He breathes, cuddling into Zayn’s turned back. Zayn’s hands find Harry’s forearms and fumble down until their fingers interlock.

“I’ll try.”

“Please. We can’t get through this if we’re not working as a unit,”

“That’s straight out of Simon’s quotation bank,” Zayn grumbles, shifting slightly so his body is further from Harry, though tightening his fingers almost unperceivably. He feels Harry’s head pressing into his back and relaxes slightly.

“Please,” Harry says again. “If it gets too much again, just… talk to me. Like you said I could talk to you. A portable haven, yeah?”

“Yeah.” Zayn agrees after a moment. He squeezes Harry’s hand tightly and wriggles until their bodies are flush together once more. “Night, Haz.” Harry lets out a snuffle in reply, finally allowing himself sleep after resolving things with Zayn.

A fragment of a song pops into Zayn’s head, from an old rock band he used to love, long forgotten in the haze of celebrity.

“Home could be anywhere when I am holding you.” 

Somewhere between consciousness and dreaming, Zayn starts planning out his next tattoo.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Here's a POV of the ride Harry and Zayn go on: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J-EA0l9JUsc 
> 
> The song that Zayn remembers is this one: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vU8JzScqU5A it always gives me stupidly strong OT5 feels.
> 
> Thanks for sticking with me thus far, next chapter'll be up asap! 
> 
> (PS: if anyone is interested in a soundtrack of songs that I mentioned/alluded to, let me know in the comments and I'll try and sort one out.)


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One dies when it moves away.

The first thing Zayn feels in the morning are cold hands creeping up his spine. He shudders involuntarily and sits up like a bolt, shoving a guffawing Harry away on instinct.

“Gggggnnnnnnnnn.”

“Morning sleepyhead! Time to get going!” Harry announces cheerily, brandishing an egg McMuffin and a smile. “I got McDonalds breakfast. Remember? Gonna be a long day.”

Zayn groans, stretching his limbs out and rubbing his hands over his eyes before grabbing the food gratefully.

“Christ, haven’t eaten one of these in ages!” Zayn says, biting into it happily before reeling away. “Ew. Now I remember why.”

“But look at the perfectly disk-shaped egg.”

“Egg should not be disk shaped. Or salty.” Zayn pokes the limp white egg warily before taking another bite. “Mmmmmm?”

“Well don’t get too used to it, god knows what food the Americas have in store for us.”

“Probably this.” Zayn says, scarfing the last bite.

“Probably definitely that.”

“Aren’t you gonna eat?” Zayn asks Harry.

“I already have! It’s 8am, pal.”

“Shit. Our flight!”

“C’mon, I put your bags in the car already. Niall wanted to come in and wake you up himself, but I figured seeing you half-naked in my bed would probably not dispel the belief that we were fucking on the down-low, so I sent him and the driver on a McDonalds run. So get dressed and get moving!”

“Fuuuuck.” Zayn flops back down and covers his face with the nearest pillow. “Go on without me,”

“On stage later you mean? Think of all the heartbroken Mrs. Maliks in the audience.”

“So creepy.”

“C’mon, or do I have to carry you?”

Zayn eventually gets out of bed with a little coaxing (and the revelation of a strawberry milkshake) from Harry, getting ready in extra quick time, his normally spiked hair flat against his head.

Anne can’t resist ruffling the hair on both of them as she says goodbye to them, telling them to stay out of trouble and don’t do anything she wouldn’t do and she’ll be there to visit in a few weeks. She adds to Zayn that his hair makes him look “so young… just like no time’s gone between now and X Factor.” She blinks back tears and rushes them out of the door, giving Harry a final hug and a forlorn wave, her smile wavering as she tries to hold it together. Niall’s happy to see Zayn, bounding up the drive to meet him and dragging him into the car.

“C’mon, we gotta get Li and Louis and then America! Fuck yeah!” Niall yells excitedly, leaping on Zayn and ruffling his hair.

“Why is everyone suddenly a morning person? And touching my hair…?” Zayn asks irritably, yawning for good measure.

“Because America! I’m so ready!”

“I’m not.” Zayn grumbles, pushing Niall away gently and sliding into the backseat of the car, smiling at the driver.

· * *

Somewhere halfway across the Atlantic everyone stops being so peppy and starts being dozy, just as Zayn’s starting to cheer up and realise the magnitude of their tour.

“America!” Zayn says, pointing out of the window.

“I think that’s the Ocean, Zayn.” Liam mutters from behind his laptop.

“You know what I mean! This is gonna be so good.”

“Glad to hear you’re excited,” Liam replies.

“Be excited at a lower decibel.” Harry mutters, raisin his head from where he’s slumped across the table on the jet, playing Candy Crush on his phone.

“You two are like old marrieds!” Louis chuckles. “One’s up and one’s down, you’re like a see-saw.”

“Tiredness is setting in. This one, kicks in his sleep.” Harry says without venom, giving Zayn a fond shove then freezing as Niall, Louis and Liam blink in surprise.

“Oh, really?” Niall asks innocently, a wicked grin spreading across his face. Liam narrows his eyes and continues typing while Louis smirks at them both.

“Not like that. I mean. No guest room at my mum’s! We had to… oh fuck. Think what you want.”

“Please. I am so out of Harry’s league.” Zayn says, preening his hair in the window in a parody of vanity. The boys all laugh and it feels like no time has passed, that they’re flying to audition at Judge’s Houses for the first time, not to perform at their sold-out US tour.“…I can’t wait to get back on that stage.”

“Me neither. I hate having days off. You’re just expected to sit around and pretend you don’t want to go out because of the fans,” Niall sighs. “I’m so bored. I learnt how to play some new songs, though,” he starts, turning to Louis, Harry’s comment about Zayn’s bedside manner forgotten.

Zayn and Harry share secret smiles. Harry’s hand snakes across to Zayn’s chair and pokes his leg three times.

“What?” Zayn asks, his voice low.

“Three days to go! I’ve got big plans for the next day off.” Harry hisses cheerfully, before flopping back down onto the table, his hand still resting at an awkward angle near Zayn’s thigh, palm facing the ceiling as though he was waiting for Zayn to hold his hand. Ever so slowly, he retracts it. Zayn laces his own hands in his lap and stares at them.

· * *

“Miami! You are beautiful! I want to kiss each and every one of you!” Harry calls to the crowd, taking a proud bow and launching into the chorus of Kiss You.

The atmosphere is electric and they’re all bouncing around giving it their all despite the high temperatures, as they say goodbye to their first US crowd of their tour and rush offstage to get changed for the encore.

Zayn stoops down to check his phone while he’s having his earpiece adjusted and his sweaty t-shirt peeled off his back by a frantic looking stylist, who pushes a denim shirt into his hand before running over to Niall who’s got his tank top tangled in his mic pack. Seeing a new text from a number he doesn’t recognise, he swipes his phone open, sluicing the sweat off his forehead with the shirt absent-mindedly.

“It’s Annie from Yellow Fields. Call me asap”. Finding a quiet area in the corner of the green room, he dials her number.

“Zayn, glad I caught you!” she answers, almost immediately. Zayn shifts, conscious of the lights dimming and brightening, signalling they’re needed back onstage soon.

“Everything okay? It must be like, 4am there,” Zayn realises, anxiety setting in.

“Sadie’s had a bad turn, love.”

“Is she alright? Can you put her on the phone?”

“I can’t, Za-“

“Put her on! Or put the doctor on, I’ll convince him, she can-“

“Zayn, she passed away.”

Zayn braces himself on the wall, his knees buckling. “Sorry? It’s loud in here.” He lies, needing her to say something else, anything else.

“I’m so sorry. She passed away,” Annie repeats, her voice sad. “You were her emergency contact.”

“C’mon, Zayn!” Niall calls, disappearing out of the door and down the corridor. Zayn lets the phone slip from his hand and walks to the stage in a daze. He gets through the encore on autopilot, but the boys are all glancing at him every few seconds, sensing something’s up. Zayn disappears offstage first, Harry running behind him.

“Zayn, Zayn, Zayn, stop, what’s happened?” Harry catches Zayn’s shoulder and spins him around. Zayn trembles under his touch and Harry moves his hand away as though he’s been scorched. “Was it Simon? Has he changed his mind?”

“It’s Sadie,” Zayn says, trying his best to keep a straight face. “She died,”

“Shit.” Harry says, his face falling as he tugged his earbuds out. “I’m sorry,” he moves closer to Zayn to hug him and Zayn stiffens, backing away.

“It’s fine,” Zayn says. “I’m fine,” he repeats and then goes silent for the journey back to the hotel, head pressed against the window of the tour bus, arms folded around himself. Louis texts Harry a “? Lover’s tiff?” which Harry frowns at and glares at Louis before reaching out to squeeze Zayn’s shoulder. Zayn flinches away and Harry writes a text to him, thumbnails clicking furiously against the screen:

“you said you wouldn’t do this to me again”

Zayn doesn’t even look at his phone, buzzing on the table beside him.

He’s the first out of the bus and into the hotel, ignoring a few girls who are waiting outside. Harry stops for photos and to accept a fan-made photo album, smiling gratefully before ducking back inside. Louis grabs his arm as he heads for the elevator, concern on his face.

“Harry, what happened?”

“I can’t tell you. But it’s bad – he’s upset, not pissed off. It wasn’t me,” Harry explains quickly. “Can you just let me sort it out?”

“I hate this.” Louis moans, resisting the urge to stamp his foot. “I hate you two having secrets and going off together and all this. We’re supposed to be a team,”

“We are!” Harry protests. “I’m just trying to keep the team together. Let me sort it, okay? These aren’t my secrets to tell.”

Louis lets his hand drops to his side and trudges across the foyer to the elevator with Liam and Niall. As the doors slide shut, he can hear them discussing in hushed tones what they think is going on. Shaking off his irritation, he puts on his best international-superstar-who-made-a-booboo face and heads for the reception desk.

“Hi, I have a problem.”

The young receptionist spins round in her chair and smiles at him, her eyes taking on a slightly deranged look as she realises who he is.

“How can I help you?” she asks, regaining her composure.

“Zayn has my phone, and I’m afraid he’s fallen asleep, so I was wondering if you could give me an extra key-card to his room, if it’s not too much trouble.”

“No problem,” she says, eagerly tapping into the computer beside her and then reaching under the desk to hand him a key. “Oh. Wait. Let me give you my personal number, in case you require any… further assistance.” She says the final two words slowly, widening her eyes as she scrawls on a nearby piece of paper and then rips it in half. Harry hopes it wasn’t important.

“Got it. Thanks again,” he smiles and winks before disappearing into the elevator, leaving her to fan herself with a nearby brochure.

Approaching Zayn’s door slowly, he leans his ear against the door before knocking, not surprised to hear silence.

“Zayn? It’s Harry.” He calls.

No answer.

“It’s Harry, and I’m coming in,” he adds. He waits a few seconds before swiping the card, relieved when the light flashes green and he pulls the door open.

The room’s empty, eerily untouched. Harry blinks, taken aback. He was _just_ in the foyer, where could Zayn possibly be? He checks the bathroom, and that’s empty too. Zayn’s bags sit at the foot of the bed, still packed. Harry notices that the window is open and dashes across in horror, relieved to see it leads onto a fire escape. He hopes desperately that Zayn’s gone up to the roof and not down to the streets, because god knows how he’d find him in an unfamiliar city.

Climbing out of the window and onto the creaky metal steps, he begins to make his ascent, calling Zayn’s name like he’s a lost cat. He reaches the flat roof of the hotel and sees a silhouette sitting in the darkness, legs dangling over the precipice of the building. Harry approaches silently and sits next to him, shifting his legs round so they dangle too, though his heart is in his mouth at the height he could fall from. He turns to look at Zayn, squinting to make out his features. Zayn’s jaw is set, an unlit cigarette dangling between his fingers.

“I forgot my lighter.” Zayn admits, a slight laugh in his voice. Harry reaches into his pocket and passes him one, still silent.

“Why do you have that?” Zayn asks, taking it and lighting up immediately, inhaling a long drag for a good 10 seconds before he exhales, smoke dancing in the air.

“In case you needed it.” Harry says simply. He’s been carrying one around ever since Zayn had decided to take him to Yellow Fields, but he doesn’t tell Zayn that. Still, he thinks Zayn knows.

“Why are you here?”

“In case you needed me.”

“Well, I don’t.”

“Clearly, you do.” Harry snaps, snatching back his lighter and pocketing it. “So stop fucking about and actually talk about your feelings.” He regrets being mean to Zayn and pushing him into speaking, but he’s angry as well as hurt that Zayn’s running away again.

“You can’t just- she fucking died, Harry. She died. Why are you being like this?”

“Why are you?” He responds immediately. “You promised.”

“I never promised you anything.”

“Zayn, please, just talk to me,” Harry begs. Zayn turns away, taking another puff before hurling the cigarette into the darkness. They sit in silence for a while longer, Harry’s fingers subconsciously scratching up and down the edges of his new tattoo, blood bubbling to the surface on the parts that are still raw and unhealed.

“There’s nothing to say.” Zayn manages eventually. “I know you hate that but there it is.” He motions to go, spinning around and standing up. Harry doesn’t turn but he hears Zayn’s footsteps getting quieter behind him and then the unmistakable clang of metal as he pads down the steps. Harry’s slightly aware that he has to climb back in through Zayn’s window so he puts off leaving for as long as possible. When he starts to realise how cold it is up there, he slowly treks down the steps and through the open window.

Zayn’s sitting on the foot of the bed facing away from him, his shoulders heaving with silent sobs. Harry stops, unsure of how to proceed. He settles behind Zayn, pulling him horizontal so they’re lying next to each other. Zayn lets out a wounded cry and relaxes into Harry’s arms, body shuddering with loud whimpers. Harry breathes deeply, willing himself to be strong for Zayn. He doesn’t know how long Zayn cries for. Could’ve been minutes, could’ve been hours. Eventually he falls asleep, exhausted by his own sobs. Harry’s arm is stuck under Zayn’s chest so he just lies there all night, wide awake, soothingly stroking up and down Zayn’s back with his free arm, wiping away the wet tracks down his cheek. He looks troubled, even in sleep. Harry sighs and shifts away, gulping. He mulls over Sadie’s last words to him and vows from here on in he’s going to seize the day.

He doesn’t know how he fell asleep but when he wakes up he’s gutted that Zayn’s disappeared again.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're born with millions  
> Of little lights shining in our hearts  
> And they die along the way.

**ONE DIRECTION STAR ROCKED BY CHEATING SCANDAL**

[Source:Daily Mirror] Pop star Zayn Malik, 19, of One Direction fame, has reportedly been “shocked and hurt” by claims that long-term girlfriend Perrie Edwards has been spotted cheating on him.

The Bradford-born superstar, who has just begun the band’s US tour, was photographed looking ‘under the weather’ at Heathrow airport arrivals lounge in the early hours of this morning.

Edwards and her Little Mix bandmates were spotted in the exclusive London nightclub Funky Buddha two nights ago and Perrie was reported to be seen “grinding, kissing and taking a cab with” an un-named man, who sources confirm was “tall, blonde… definitely NOT Zayn”. A photograph of the pair at Wireless Festival has been circulating online, begging the question of how long this has been going on for.

Sources close to Malik claim that he has opted to return to England in the interim between concerts to “smooth things out” with Edwards.

The rep for Malik could not be reached for comment.

Don’t worry Zayn, if you need a shoulder to cry on, we’re sure the ladies’ll be lining up! Fans were quick to his support, trending #WeLoveYouZayn worldwide (alongside some choice hashtags for Perrie which we can’t print!)

In other 1D news, Harry tweeted these obscure lyrics yesterday:

> “So I packed up my things and I faced up my doubts, you know I think I will grow my hair back out.”

Words of encouragement for his dejected band mate maybe? Or just a plan to change up his hairstyle?

 - - - 

Zayn finishes scrolling the article online, groaning and tossing his phone onto the bed before reaching for his blazer, folded over the side of a chair. He puts it on and inspects himself in the mirror, raking a hand over his tousled hair and rubbing at his bloodshot eyes. He’s tired, he’s sad, and now thanks to Perrie, he’s apparently off the hook for sneaking off back to England at the drop of a hat for Sadie’s funeral. He turns to the window, watching the rain fall steadily, trying to even his breathing.

“You ready to go?” A voice calls from the bathroom, and Zayn jolts, spinning around. Harry’s walking out in a white shirt and tapered black trousers, tie hanging loose around his neck, hair combed meticulously away from his face. Zayn looks hard at him and is slightly unnerved, seeing dull, flat brown eyes staring back at him. He does a double take.

Harry smiles weakly, donning a pair of thick-rimmed glasses. “Coloured contact lenses. Thought it was a good idea.” He almost looks unrecognisable. Just a boy in a suit. 

“Right,” Zayn says absently, tearing his gaze away and fumbling with his tie. Harry darts across and takes the ends in his hands, tugging them and tying it into a perfect knot. “Shall we go?”

“If you’re ready.”

“I won’t ever be… but yeah. Let’s go.”

Harry stoops over to retrieve Zayn’s phone between thumb and forefinger and notices the article still onscreen, giving it a quick once over, rubbing his neck.

“Good ol’ Perrie, yeah? Was sweet of her,” Harry says softly, slipping the phone into Zayn’s pocket and patting it down.

“Hmmm.” Zayn says, distracted, checking his tie again, buttoning and unbuttoning the front button on his blazer.

“We can talk about it later, yeah?” Harry says quickly, opening the door into the corridor and leaning back, giving Zayn an intense, all-seeing stare before ushering him into the hallway.

They’re in a dingy Bed and Breakfast in a seaside town near Hastings and it’s a small miracle that Harry managed to get across the Atlantic without being spotted. The plan involved a decoy bus, two interconnecting flights and for Zayn to walk right into the firing line of paparazzi at Heathrow.

Zayn had tried to convince Harry not to come but there was no changing his mind once it was set, and he had to admit that he was grateful now for his warm arms guiding him down the stairs and out the door. He had a feeling like if he were alone he’d just stay there, alone and anonymous, allowing roots to grow around him.

He was grateful last night too, for Harry knocking on the door in the middle of the night holding a bag and looking sheepish, apologising for taking so long to get there and cooing reassuring words in Zayn's ear as he sobbed himself to sleep, Harry's muscled arms wrapped tightly around his chest as though he was the very flesh holding Zayn together.

They take a cab to the crematorium where the funeral will take place, and slip in the back of the hall. Zayn makes a beeline for the staff of the home while Harry hovers, inspecting a floral arrangement with a grave look on his face. They heard the scrape of tires on gravel signalling the arrival of the coffin, and Harry migrates to a seat in the back row, looking more comfortable when Zayn slips into the seat beside him and slides his hand into Harry’s.

The room was packed out with staff, residents and people Zayn didn’t even recognise and he felt relieved that even though Sadie didn’t have any family she was survived by so many people who loved her.

He feels his eyes welling up and grips at Harry’s hand a little tighter. Encouragingly, Harry runs a thumb across Zayn’s knuckles and shuffles closer, their shoulders square against each other. The service is blissfully short and then the curtains close and Zayn’s breath catches in his throat as though the air has been sucked from the room. He lets out a shudder, squeezing at Harry’s hand desperately. Harry squeezes back, blinking hard.

The people file out, Annie and some of the other residents nodding or smiling in Zayn’s direction, and people that Zayn didn’t recognise looking over curiously at the only two boys below 45 in the entire room, some looking as though they were trying to place where they'd seen the pair before. Harry pushes his glasses up his nose a little higher, shrinking into himself. They exit without drawing attention to themselves, walking hastily out of the building and through the abandoned streets with no real direction, rain hammering down.

Harry’s hair is dripping wet and he’s shivering but he’d happily walk all the way back to the airport next to Zayn if that’s what Zayn needed. Suddenly they stop when Zayn nearly keels over, dropping to his knees on the pavement and retching into the gutter. Harry crouches down next to Zayn, shocked. He rubs his back as Zayn coughs up yellow bile, leaning into Harry with moist eyes and breathing raggedly.

“You sick?” Harry asks softly. “You didn’t eat much this morning. I should’ve done something, I’m sorry…”

“Sick of losing things,” Zayn rasps, his voice shredded. Harry hauls Zayn to his feet and wraps an arm around his waist, dialling for a taxi.

He doesn’t notice the man leaning out of the window of the café opposite with an iPhone pointed in their direction. He’s so caught up in taking care of Zayn that he doesn’t see the flash going off as they’re walking down the street and he could never imagine that all of his best-laid plans would blow up in his face.

* * *

**‘ZARRY’ SPOTTED IN SOUTH ENGLAND ON DAYTIME DRINKING SESSION?**

[Source: Sugarscape] Apparently, our heartbroken Zayn was not heartbroken for long, going on an all-day drinkathon with a tall, brunette boy who bears a striking resemblance to our dear Harold Styles.

Apparently our boys were a bit worse for wear, as a man spotted Zayn “stumbling, crying and vomiting”. Sounds a bit much? Well, good thing he took photos.

They’re grainy, but it definitely looks like two worse-for wear dark haired teenagers. Is it our boys?

Only time will tell, but we have a hell of a lot of questions for them! First off, why didn’t they invite us? Second of all, why the suits? Third, why didn’t they invite us?

Let us know in the comments what you think!

* * *

“We’re fucked. I can’t believe someone saw us.” Zayn groans, pulling a beanie across his flat hair and putting a pair of sunglasses on exasperatedly, staring out of the window of the plane into the darkness of the night as it descends into the airport, Harry beside him looking grim as he checks his laptop.

In the time it’s taken for them to fly back to Miami, the bottom has fallen out of the online world, with grainy photos of the pair of them leaving the funeral making the rounds of the gossip sites.

“It’s fine. They can’t be sure it’s us. Why would it be us?” Harry scrolls through the comments, sighing anxiously before opening his Twitter feed. Zayn yawns, tired from sleeping for the majority of the flight, his head resting on Harry’s shoulder.

“Because I flew there, and then you disappeared for two days, and now the fans are going to be at the airport waiting for us. We’re fucked.” Zayn reiterates.

“What do we do?!” Harry says, slamming his laptop shut as the wheels of the plane make contact with the ground. “Should I… fly somewhere else and fly back…?”

“...I have no idea.”

“Shall I call Liam? …Simon?”

The seatbelt lights turn off and Harry jumps out of his seat, sliding his laptop into his messenger bag and looking to Zayn for guidance.

“…no. Let’s just go out through the arrivals lounge. We got nothing to hide, right?”

“Lads on tour.”

“Lads on tour, yeah.” Zayn cracks his first real smile since they get on the plane. “Let’s go meet some fans.” He says, and Harry plasters a smile on his face to mirror Zayn.

  * * *



A well-timed flight arriving at 3am Miami time was a good shout, as there were only a few girls and two paparazzi waiting, and the girls were too exhausted to scream or chase after the boys, opting to quietly queue up for hugs, signatures and photos.

Zayn obliges, leaning in to the blur of faces and giving a weak smile and a shrug when they ask how he’s doing or where he’s been. A paparazzi asks “how’s the missus?” and Zayn steels himself, looking round for Harry, who’s talking intensely to a crying girl holding a scrapbook, her eyes wide with adoration. Their lone security guard stands guard, looking like he’s about to step in and stop the camera rolling on Zayn.

“I’m single,” Zayn says simply, turning away and reaching for Harry’s sleeve, giving it a tug. Harry notices and hugs the girl quickly, taking the scrapbook and promising he’ll see her later.

“Is that an exclusive?” asks the paparazzi, camera getting absurdly close to Zayn’s face now, so close Zayn can read the serial number above the lens.

“Pretty much.”  Zayn says, and does a dopey smile right into the camera. “I’m fine, honestly. Got my boys, got my fans, what more could I need?”

Harry, looking suddenly frightened on hearing the end of Zayn’s words, grabs Zayn by the wrist and half-drags him behind the security out of the arrivals lounge and into the car waiting for them, exhaling with relief when they’re behind the safety of the blackout windows.

“What was that?” Harry hisses, aware of the driver and security guard in the front seat. The driver flashes them a shark-like smile and closes the partition between them.

“I just wanted it done with. No more lying.”

“Does that mean… you’re gonna…”

“If they ask. I’ll tell.” Zayn shrugs. “I’m done with the whole thing.”

Harry stares at him for what feels like forever, before pulling out his phone and typing furiously.

“I’m texting Liam.”

“Go ahead.”

“Not gonna change your mind?”

“Not in a million years. This whole thing…when I told you about Adam, and now losing Sadie… it just put it all into context for me. Being… being gay. It’s not the worst thing that will ever happen to me.”

“Not at all.” Harry’s free hand snakes across the back of the seats and slots around Zayn’s shoulder, awkwardly pulling him closer around his seatbelt. Zayn makes an indignant noise of discomfort before undoing his seatbelt completely and scurrying along the leather to nuzzle into Harry, letting out a contented sigh.

“Feels good, yeah? Being honest?” Harry asks softly, reaching up to pull Zayn’s beanie off and carding a hand through his hair to spike it up.

“Really good. You should try it sometime.”

 “One day,” Harry promises meekly, ignoring the strange feeling settling in his gut, like one day is far too far off from this moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took so long to update this, some personal stuff has been happening and this kind of got put on the backburner for a while! But the good news is we're nearing the end, only a few more chapters to go I reckon! Thanks for sticking with me all this time. xx


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Till we're old and we're cold   
> And we're lying in the dark.

“Oh my god. Oh my god. This is an absolute PR disaster! How could you do this to me?” One of their publicists, Marcus, demands, tapping angrily into his laptop across the breakfast table from Harry and Zayn in their private dining room at the hotel the next day. “I’ve never seen so many nasty tweets. We have to do something major about this. You do _realise_ that if Little Mix’s sales get hurt, you get hurt. We get hurt! We’re all one big happy SyCo family, remember?”

“More like psycho family.” Harry pipes up, spreading jam on a croissant and doing his best to look innocent. “Why is a continental breakfast so tasty outside the continent?” He asks aloud, addressing nobody in particular.

“I don’t know. Must be all the sugar. Americans.” Louis says cheerfully from the doorway, bouncing in and giving Zayn an exaggerated kiss on the forehead, making a loud slurping noise. “Ohhhh Zayn. I’m so glad you finally stood up for yourself. That Newcastle accent was fucking grating on my nerves. Mooooooorning, lads. Marcus. You’re looking a fetching shade of puce.”

Liam trudges in soon after Louis, scratching the back of his head with a jewellery box in his hand and bags under his eyes.

“Oh, you absolute darling.” Marcus says gleefully, rising to his feet like Liam’s some sort of saviour and rubbing his fingers together like an evil mastermind, dashing over to pull out a chair for Liam and ushering him into it. “You do want to do this?”

“I wanna do this.” Liam says, turning the box over in his hands as though he’s never seen it before. Harry reaches for it curiously and Liam passes it to him, Zayn leaning closer to take a look, letting out a low whistle when he sees the ring inside.

“Li, you really don’t have to do _that_.” Zayn says, but Marcus is already typing away on his phone, looking like he’s on the verge of speeding into the corridor and yelling from the rooftops about it, and Liam’s smiling weakly and biting into an apple, ever health conscious.

“S’okay. Anything for you lads.”

“Great. I’ll get Danielle on a flight. Where should she join us? Not Vegas, far too tacky. What about Denver? No negative marriage connotations there, and it’s so soon. Oh, plant the seeds, go to the jeweller’s with Louis, do it today!” Marcus pleads. “Anything to stop that awful video of Captain Bad Publicity from circulating.”

“Call a cab.” Liam says, shrugging. Marcus exits the room silently, doing a little half-curtsey to Liam as he passes and glaring one last time at Zayn, the villain once again.

“Liam, really, you don’t have to. The backlash isn’t that bad. Everyone is saying they hate Perrie now, but they’ll get over it. Bieber cheated, right? That didn’t have any lasting repercussions, and our fans are _way_ less fickle.”

“But you coming out will.” Liam says quietly. “A lovely conventional wedding for the fans to focus on will distract from the charming Daily Mail preaching that we’re dragging children down the homosexual highway.”

“Liam!” Harry says, taken aback.

“It’s true. I know this business backwards, I’ve been paying attention while you two are off god knows where, blindly following orders and kissing girls and kissing shoes. At least I chose this, it wasn’t forced upon me. I want to marry Danielle one day. Why not sooner than that? Doesn’t matter in the end.”

“Li,” Zayn leans over and hugs him, and Harry joins in, sliding onto Zayn’s lap since it’s just the four of them. Niall trudges in then, dopily wiping sleep out of his eyes and flapping his hands in his tank top.

“Did I miss something again? Why are you hugging? Did someone… fuck, did someone else die?” He asks, mildly horrified, eyes darting from where they originally rested on the platter of pastries to Zayn’s red-rimmed eyes – which are becoming such a permanent fixture in the group, he’s surprised there haven’t been rumours of drug addiction yet.

“Liam and Danielle are getting engaged!” Louis announces, doing a sarcastic gesture of enthusiasm before folding his arms.

“Ahhh…? Another wingman bites the dust.” Niall says, sounding unsurprised. Zayn supposes they had a lot of time to talk while he and Harry were flying around the world.

“I thought I was your wingman.” Louis protests, clutching a hand to his heart.

“Wingmen cannot be whipped by their girlfriends and or mothers.”

“Liam’s the one getting engaged!”

“Hmmmm. You’ll be next, then Zayn and Harry, then it’ll just be me, alone, trying to pull randoms in my mid-thirties by singing What Makes You Beautiful to them!” Niall grumbles, making a grab for a cinnamon roll and biting into it aggressively.

“Me and Zayn are NOT getting married.” Harry says in mock disgust, but he doesn’t leave Zayn’s lap. Zayn wraps an arm around Harry’s waist to hold him down and gives him a smack round the side of his head with his other hand, tousling his fluffy hair.

“You should be so lucky!” He says, moving onto tickling Harry around his hipbones until he jumps to his feet and darts behind Louis, who simply sighs as though he’s too old for playground flirtations.

“I didn’t mean married to each-other…” Niall clarifies through a mouthful of dough.

Marcus comes back in then, phone in hand. Zayn doesn’t know if it’s a universal trait of publicists, or if it’s just them being terrible, terrible clients with dreaded _autonomy_ , but he has never seen anyone from their management ever smile or sit down and relax or do anything without a phone in hand. He feels guilty then, knows he’s been the cause for more than one person’s loss of sleep.

“What now? Who’s getting married to each other? Don’t you _dare_. Liam and Danielle. That’s what we’re going with. Niall, sit tight, yeah? Got big plans. Little Mix damage control. Watch your Twitter.” Marcus says, grabbing his laptop and leaving again, motioning for Liam and Louis to follow him, which they do in single file, heads bowed, without so much as a goodbye to the trio of boys reeling from the conversation.

“God. When are they gonna realise that they can’t just put two of their clients together in a room and expect them to fornicate? We’re not fucking giant pandas!” Harry demands, angrily tearing a napkin to shreds, settling down on the edge of the table beside Zayn, former tickling grudges all but forgotten.

“Who’s a giant panda?” Niall asks, confused, still staring at the closed door.

“No, I mean, pandas are like people. He can’t just force you to date someone… did they not see what it did to Zayn? To Perrie? He was literally _just_ whining about the ‘nasty tweets’. Who do you think he was on the phone to? Awfully long conversation.” Harry says, moving on from tearing the napkin and starting to pick at a fashionably frayed hole in the kneecap of his jeans.

“Do you think there are gay pandas? Is that why they’re dying out?” Niall asks genuinely, followed by a dreamy “I wonder which member of Little Mix I’ll have to date. I hope it’s Jade. She’s so cute. And it’d be hilarious to make Louis deal with another Geordie. You shoulda heard him behind your back, all ‘howay’ this and ‘whey aye’ that. Endless fun.”

“Glad you’re up for it,” Zayn mutters, sipping at his coffee grimly, the acidic taste of the lukewarm liquid suddenly unappealing. “I wish I’d never said anything. I’ve fucked that up royally.”

Niall shrugs.

“It’s your life. Not letting you tell the truth would be like… not letting me be Irish. It’s just who you are. Anyway, gotta go Skype my mum while the time zones aren’t too confusing. Don’t get married or anything while I’m gone, lads.” Niall picks up a few pastries for the long walk back to the service elevator they’ve been using to avoid fans, and then he’s gone, and Harry and Zayn are alone again.

“So.” Zayn says, staring at the carpet glumly.

“That’s that, then.”

“I ruined it. I ruined the band.”

“You didn’t. Stop it. Now we’re gonna go back upstairs, have a cuddle, and come up with the ten worst and most hilarious ways to come out of the closet so we have something to aspire to.” Harry says, standing up boldly and chugging the remains of his coffee in one glug. He looks down at Zayn, still staring at the carpet, and suddenly kneels, crawling between Zayn’s knees and resting his elbows on his thighs, getting directly in his eye line. “Yeah, Zayn?” He asks gently.

“Yeah. Okay. My room?”

“Yeah.” Harry says, getting up slowly and groaning like an old man, pulling Zayn to his feet. They stand like that, bolt upright, frozen with heads close for a few seconds, before Zayn dares to breathe, pulling away, hand still holding Harry’s as he tugs him out of the room.

At the concert that night, Zayn has no idea who picked the Twitter questions but they obviously weren’t run through Marcus and co., seeing as one of them turned out to be “who is your celebrity crush?”

“I don’t know lads, I’ve gotta say Megan Fox! She. Is. Fit.” Louis says, all swagger, accent thicker than ever against the chants of the American fans.

“Yeah, I think Rosie Huntington-Whitely. She’s a beauty,” Liam says, waving to some girls and causing a flurry of screams to increase in decibels.

“My celebrity crush is… Johnny Depp!” Zayn announces, and the screams get really, really, unbearably loud.

“You sure about that, Zayn?” Louis says, in an exaggerated Geordie accent which incites more screams – by this point, Zayn’s pretty sure that he could say “scream if you want to overthrow the government” and the girls would blindly scream.

“Your accent is shit, mate.” Zayn yells into his microphone, smiling goofily and doing a peace sign at a camera as it flashes in the front row.

Harry suddenly tackles him from behind, shouting “and my celebrity crush is everyone in this room! You’re all my stars!” to even louder cheers.

“Does nobody want to hear my celebrity crush?” Niall pipes up, doing an exaggerated frown.

“No, mate, you’re just gonna say Katy Perry and embarrass us again.” Louis says fondly, and then they’re onto the next question and, wow, Zayn just admitted to having a crush on a man onstage in front of 25,000 people, and wow, nobody got booed at, or had any projectiles launched at them. Throwing himself into the second half of the show with more energy than ever, he feels Harry looking over at him constantly, a fond smile on his face, and makes a beeline for him after the show, flinging sweaty arms around him.

“Shitty way to come out number 11: say Johnny Depp is your celebrity crush!” he says proudly, nuzzling Harry’s neck.

“Shitty because nobody will take that as your coming out. Nobody will actually believe you’re gay until you’re like, balls deep. As far as everyone knew, you were part of young Brangelina just last week.” Niall says honestly, pulling his own damp t-shirt off and dabbing his face with it. Harry glares at Niall and Niall shirks away from his gaze, looking guilty, turning to talk to Louis instead.

“Don’t listen to him. It’s a start. From now on, we just answer all questions honestly, yeah? Fuck management, fuck bad publicity, fuck everything.”

They spend that night on the tour bus, quietly crossing state lines as the cities sleep and Zayn’s not surprised when he hears quiet thudding in the night followed by a hand sliding between the curtains of his bunk, fingers waggling in the darkness and patting around until one finds his knee and squeezes.

“You have no door to knock on,” Harry hisses. “Are you decent?” he asks, peeking his head through the curtain before he gets an answer, shining his phone light into the bunk. “Room for one more?”

“I dunno, mate.” Zayn says, spreading his arms out wide to fill up every possible space, watching Harry’s face fall. “Yeah, don’t be dumb. C’mon.” Harry sighs with relief and hoists himself up, elbowing several areas of Zayn’s body as they struggle to fit together in the tiny bunk.

“So much money went into this tour and yet we couldn’t afford a nice van made from bed.” Harry grumbles in hushed tones, trying to fit an arm under Zayn’s pillow.

“A van… made from bed? Like a padded cell on wheels?” Zayn reasons, shifting until he’s comfortable.

“Maybe. That’d be swell.” Harry says, and they laugh and the bed shakes slightly. “Ssshhh, don’t wake everyone else up. Sleepy time.” He drawls, tracing a soothing pattern down Zayn’s back.

“I was thinking about getting another tattoo.” Zayn confesses after a while, not even sure if Harry’s still awake. Harry hums in response, shuffling closer.

“Of what?”

“Lyrics.”

“Oohhhh, oooh, let me guess: ‘started from the bottom now we here’?” Harry whispers, shuddering with laughter.

“I will shove you out of this bunk.” Zayn threatens, digging his nails into Harry’s side.

“Okay, what then?” Harry says, and Zayn can practically see him in the pitch darkness shifting his expression into a serious one.

“I want ‘home could be anywhere when I am holding you’, across, here,” he says, grabbing Harry’s hand and running it along the inside of his left forearm, the skin there soft and untouched by ink as of yet. Harry makes a clicking noise with his tongue as he mulls this over.

“Enter Shikari, yeah? I used to listen to them before… before all this. Never would have pegged you for a fan.” Harry comments, fingers still stroking up and down Zayn’s arm like he’s trying to imagine what it’d look like there.

“I have sisters who like angry rock music.” Zayn says. “That song though. It’s nice. Softer, somehow.”

“Let’s get it done tomorrow.” Harry says decisively, rolling over so his back is pressed against Zayn’s front and wrapping Zayn’s arm around his waist securely, nestling down before pulling the blanket up over both of them. “I’m itching for an inking.”

“Of what?”

“Dunno. Draw something tomorrow for me…” Harry says, stifling a yawn. “Night.” He grabs one of Zayn’s hands and kisses it before returning it to his side and promptly falls asleep, breathing even, Zayn feeling every rise and fall of his chest from where his arm rests.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 2 months. Oh my god. I am so sorry I literally have no excuse other than the fact my Ziam fic was more popular and more people were pushing me to update that? This is such a crap excuse oh my god BUT ANYWAY I FEEL REALLY INSPIRED WITH THIS ONE AGAIN NOW I reckon it'll be pushing 40,000 words by the end, heading back to University at the end of the week so will have to put this on the backburner for a while but please if you do want me to update it you HAVE TO bug me about it, go on my Tumblr and send me abusive anons if I leave it for more than a month ever again! Okay? Okay! Thank you SO much for sticking around and waiting this long if you've come back, and thank you for coming here and reading it for the first time if you haven't been waiting and sorry if you were waiting and it never came back so you decided you hated me and would never read any of my work again  
> in which case you wouldn't be reading this  
> so   
> oh wow  
> OKAY thank you so much I love you all and yeah. Just thank you. YOU GUYS ARE THE BEST xx


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cos they'll all burn out one day.

One day and two hastily booked tattoos later (the “do you know who I am” card may have been played liberally), Harry and Zayn are onstage in long-sleeve shirts, sweating profusely in their attempt to conceal their new ink from the boys and the fans.

“Thank you so much America! You are so beautiful!” Harry yells as he rushes offstage to change for the encore, hiding behind a towel as Niall appears behind him, thankfully not paying much attention as usual as he tosses Harry a white t-shirt, wiping the sweat from his brow with his sleeve before discarding his shirt. Harry waves a disregarding hand at the shirt and quickly dons a blue blazer that has been travelling around with him since 2011.

“Ooh, that’s a throwback.” Louis says, popping his head in. “You ready lads? Hope you’re not expecting me to put on some red trousers.”

“Nah, just a bit chilly out there tonight. Such a draft.” Harry lies through his teeth.

“You English people and your sensitivity to drafts! Zayn’s wearing a _jumper_!” Niall points out theatrically, as though jumper is a rude word.

“C’mon, let’s go,” Liam rushes, basically shoving everyone back to the wings of the stage.

“Break legs!” Louis says cheerily and then they’re back onstage and the crowds are roaring and Zayn touches a hand to his hip protectively, enjoying the tingle of pain from the words etched into his skin.

Obviously, they can’t hide the tattoos forever. Next stop Florida and they’re sunbathing at the pool with the rest of the band when they realise a man who is definitely not in beach attire is doing some suspicious things with a cell phone. Quickly tossing a towel across his bare stomach, Zayn gives Harry a totally-PG-friendly arm stroke and a casual nod. Harry preens, sitting up and flexing an arm muscle, before suddenly remembering and flops back down, rolling onto his front with a visible wince as his skin contacts the cool metal of the lounger.

“Shit.” He adds helpfully.

“You’re a twat.” Zayn says fondly, throwing a magazine at Harry’s head.

“Wait, wait, what?” Louis says, looking at them both with new eyes over his copy of Marley and Me. “What’s under the blanket? Have you got a stalk on, Zayn?” he demands, reaching out to twitch the towel.

“No! Me and Harry got inked.” Zayn says quickly, casually.

“I can never tell with you two, the walking doodles.” Liam grumbles, stroking his own arm subconsciously.

“S’cool.” Zayn shrugs, settling back down. They all return to their books, magazines, iPads.

“… so what did you get?” Louis suddenly asks.

“Lyrics.” Harry says vaguely, mock-snoozing.

“Fine. Don’t say. See if I care.” Louis snorts. “Just gonna let your bandmate read about it on the internet later. That’s fine.” He dramatically tosses his book to the ground and dives into the pool.

Liam just looks at them with his eyes narrowed, and says casually, “Danielle’s coming up next week, by the way. We’re… we’re getting engaged. So if there’s anything you two want to get off your chests,”

“-- Or stomach!” Niall pipes in.

“Right. If you do. Then, start thinking about it.”

Harry and Zayn exchange a glance and Zayn does the tiniest inclination of his head and Harry swallows hard.

They start doing things subtlely on Zayn’s twitter account. They follow a few attractive male celebrities, Zayn favourites some tweets, Harry tweets some vague lyrics, the Daily Mail starts up an online poll of who they think Zayn’ll date next.

The tour goes on, the cities blur into one another and before they know it they’re in New York, waking up at 5am to be on Good Morning America.

“I’m gonna announce the engagement today, I think,” Liam says casually as they’re on their way to the venue.

“Really?” Zayn asks, playing with the hem of his jacket with an air of indifference, though Harry sees his hands shake from the other side of the car, twitching subconsciously toward the packet of Marlboro Lights in his pocket.

“Yeah. Danielle thinks it’s best to get it out the way as soon as possible, then she can… shop and everything. I guess things will start happening pretty quickly after today.”

“Dibs on best man,” Louis says cheerily from the front seat. Liam blushes and toys with his cuff, making a noise of mock-irritation.

“No choice has been made yet. You’ll all have to fight it out. Zayn does look best in a suit though,” Liam says, smiling gently at Zayn, who had been staring out the window ever since the words “best man” had been mentioned. He felt guilty as hell. Before all the drama, when everything was carefully constructed lies and publicity stunts, he and Liam were closest. He’d’ve been a shoe in for best man, if Liam had got to choose when he wanted to get married, if Liam had got to choose anything. He smiles back at Liam anyway, smiles at Louis, smiles at Niall, smiles at Harry the hardest.

“It’ll be good. All publicity is good publicity, but this is actually good publicity!” Niall marvels. “Anyone want a biscuit?”

Sometimes, it feels like every decision they make doesn’t change their life. Zayn takes the biscuit and leaves the packet of cigarettes in the glove box.

***

“So, what’s new with you boys?” The interviewer asks them two hours later. There’s a smear of red lipstick on her front tooth and Zayn can’t keep his eyes off of it. Her eyes are fixed on him and there’s something lying under the professionalism. Like sinister curiosity, like hunger.

“Actually, I’ve got a little announcement to make, if that’s okay?” Liam asks, leaning in front of Zayn, his face bearing a demure, poised expression.

“Of course, go ahead, Liam!” she says, flicking her hair to the side and looking at the camera. “An announcement, we have been spoilt today!”

“Actually, I just got engaged to my girlfriend a few days ago, and I wanted you guys to know as soon as possible.” This is met with a roar so loud from the crowds waiting outside the studio that the sound breaks through the walls of the room they’re sitting in.

“Really? That’s Danielle Peazer, the dancer you met on the X Factor, yes?” She confirms, leaning forward, her eyes flashing. Zayn’s never been more terrified of a woman in a pencil skirt before.

“Yeah, my girl.” Liam smiles, looking the picture of the happiest man alive. “I’ve never been so happy. Got my lads, got my girl, in one of the best cities in the world!” He shrugs. “It’s great.”

“Well, that’s a world exclusive! You heard it here first! After the break, the boys are going to do a special song for us! We’ll be back in 5!” The second the green light turned to red she got to her feet and tottered across the studio in her high heels without so much as a word to the group, who were all sitting in various stages of surprise. 

They could see the very pleased looking publicity team conferring behind a screen, they could see their driver standing over by the catering table as though the cream puffs contained the meaning of life, they could see the dollar signs turning over in the eyes of the interviewer from the other side of the room, but they couldn’t find it in themselves to look at each other.

“That went well, I think.” Liam says first, cracking his knuckles, the epitome of cool.

“Yeah! Great. Just get this song out of the way and then do some tweeting, probably have some phone calls to do, radio interviews, public appearances, oh yeah, and a tour. Movie. Album.” Zayn says bitterly, and Harry scoots closer to him on the sofa, burying his head in Zayn’s shoulder.

“Just get this song out of the way.” Harry repeats. “Day off tomorrow. Like Li said, we’re in the greatest city in the world. Let’s all do something together, yeah? Like the old days?”

“Yeah, sounds good.” Louis says vaguely, more interested in his phone than the conversation.

“Sounds like a great idea,” Liam says cheerfully. “Lads night out!”

“Awesome!” Harry says, cracking a genuine smile. “I’m gonna go grab some cream puffs, we must be back on after the weather.” He scampers over and starts indulging the staff in conversation.

“Ever feel that smile starting to slip?” Zayn asks Liam in an aside, leaning close so only he can hear. Liam turns round and fixes him with a genuinely kind, soft look, and says conspirationally: “I just paint a new one over the top.”

Something in his gaze reminds Zayn of the interviewer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOW! Sorry about the stupidly long delay, I'm in my second year of University and it is absolutely ridiculous the amount of work I've had to do! Got a fair few anons about this one over on my Tumblr and I hope to update the other two WIPs I've got on the go in this week that I've got off. Thanks for sticking around, or if you're new, thanks for turning up! Much loveeeeeee xx


	11. Chapter 11

“Lad’s night out” hits a snag around 5pm when Louis gets a desperate call from Eleanor about a family crisis and then Liam has to do a photo-op with Danielle so it turns into Zayn and Harry’s night out, which has basically been the past month anyway, guest starring Niall, who seems a bit less laid-back than usual as they decide what to do, lounging around in Niall’s hotel room (which already smells a bit like cheese, even though they just checked in the day before).

“What should we do, then?” Harry asks, opening a tiny can of diet coke from the mini-fridge and taking a sip, pinky up.

“Room service?” Niall says hopefully, offering the hotel pamphlet he’s been leafing through mock-casually.

“No, c’mon, we do that every time we hang out. I want to go out!” Harry’s pacing now, clearing the room in long strides.

“Well, there’s not really anywhere we can go. That's like, secluded, I mean." 

They end up booking out every seat in a cinema screen and seeing the new Iron Man film, feet up on the seat and Harry scarfing Niall’s popcorn every five minutes because he always picks sweet over salted and regrets his decision for the next 90 minutes. It’s a reminder of how difficult it is to have a normal life when they have to don their hoodies and sunglasses and go through the fire exit to leave, but they chat inanely about the film in their car back.

“What’s the time?” Niall asks suddenly, leaning forward.

“Like, 9:30,” Zayn says, slightly embarrassed when he reads it on his phone screen. “Bit early to be heading back... what a fail at a lad’s night out.” The car pulls up at the service entrance of the hotel and Harry peers out the window to check the coast is clear.

“Yeah. Actually, darling, we’ll be commandeering this vehicle.” Harry announces to their driver.

“Um, that’s not – they said to drop you back at the service entrance?” He says, his words colliding as his hand hovers over the brake, unsure of what to do.

“And you did that. We’re here. Dropped. Why don’t you go have a drink?” Harry says gently, pressing a crisp $100 bill into his hand. Uneasily, he reaches for his seatbelt. “Thanks, Dave.”

“You know my name?” He says, turning to Harry.

“Of course I do, Dave Marsters from Kentucky, with three children, saving up for a holiday in Hawaii. Pleeeeeeease, please, please can we have the car, we won’t tell anyone?” Harry asks, switching tack. Zayn steals a glance at him and he looks positively angelic, framed by the glow of the streetlights streaming through the windows. “Please?” He says again, but the smile touching the corner of his eyes gives away the fact he knows he’s won.

Five minutes later and they’re back on the road, somewhat unsteadily, because in Harry’s words “it’s the same as driving at home, but backwards,” and he refuses to look at a map or an iPhone, just following the signs to places with interesting names until the bright lights of the Vegas strip are behind them.

“How do you even do that?” Niall asks Harry enviously, winding down the window and peering out of the slit.

“Drive on the wrong side of the road?” Harry says from the front seat, angling the rear view mirror so he can look at Niall.

“Nah, like, _get_ things from people who shouldn’t give you things.” Niall clarifies, throwing a pointed glance at Zayn, who’s furtively picking at a frayed thread on the hem of his jacket and completely misses it. “Cars… secrets.” Zayn looks up at the last word, suddenly interested, the thread escaping his long capable fingers.

“I… I dunno.” Harry says honestly, turning down a random fork in the road. They haven’t seen anything of interest in a while, a few “just outside the city” spas, a few road diners. “I just, ask for things? You never know if you don’t ask.”

“It’s how you ask.” Zayn blurts out. “Nobody in their right mind is gonna say no to Harry Styles. And it’s not even a famous thing, like, we’re famous too, but – ”

“ – If I’d’ve said it, he’d’ve smacked me bottom and sent me home to me daddy,” Niall says, exaggerating his accent to get a laugh out of the serious point. “I just don’t. How can you?”

“There’s something trustworthy about Harry. I felt it the moment I met him.” Zayn says, and it’s more to himself than anyone else, but it sufficiently kills the conversation and Harry finds himself fumbling with the radio, blushing furiously when What Makes You Beautiful comes on and rushing to change it, settling in the end for static.

“Where even are we?” Zayn asks.

“Not, a, clue.” Harry says, swerving the car slightly on the intonation of each word, headlights brightening the open, empty road in front of them. “Let’s keep going a while longer, we’ll get somewhere eventually. On the road.”

“Did you ever read that, in school?” Zayn asks.

“On The Road? No, I wanted to though. Got stuffed with Of Mice and Men. Bloody rabbits... Maybe I’ll read it, after.”

There’s that “after” again, the narrative after the climax of the story that none of them really want to deal with.

“It’s good. Makes me want to run and run and run.”

“You have to stop eventually, take a look around.” Harry says philosophically. “Good timing, actually.” He rounds a corner, suddenly going off the road and comes to a stop, turning the engine off, headlights still cutting through the dark.

“Where are we?”

“God knows. There were tire tracks going up here though, must be something special.” At Harry’s words, Niall lets out a large snore and his head lolls back in his chair. “Not to Niall, evidently.”

Zayn slides out of the car silently, Harry following suit. They squint in the darkness, suddenly a world away from the neon lights that were assaulting their eyes for the past few days.

“It’s pretty.” Zayn observes. There’s a little lake, and hills and trees, and Nevada desert stretching for miles around them. “Quiet.”

“Weird that Las Vegas is slap bang in the middle of all this.”

“Cool. Culture clash.”

“Why do you think people come here? Those tire tracks?” Zayn asks, turning around to inspect the surroundings before letting out a very un-Zaynlike guffaw. “Oh my god, Harry, you brought us to a… make-out point!” He splutters, chuckling so hard he has to grab hold of the wing mirror for support.

“A what?” Harry demands, frowning and looking around, as though fornicating couples were going to crawl from the depths of the water. “Where? Who’s making out?”

“No, like in the movies, y’know. This is so cliché. Oh my god, Niall is gonna wet himself when he finds out.”

“Shut up.” Harry says, put out. “I tried to do a nice thing! It’s not often _I_ get to pick where we go.”

“I’m sorry about that,” says Zayn, and the tone suddenly shifts. Zayn climbs onto the hood of the car and leans back experimentally, patting the space beside him.

“What if we scratch it?” Harry says cautiously, experimentally leaning on the hood before sliding onto it fully.

“Then dear old Dave can pay for it.” Zayn mutters.

“Heyyyy. No,” Harry says, slipping back onto the ground.

“I’m just kidding, Harry.”

“Sometimes it’s hard to tell when I can’t make out your face… don’t laugh because I said make out.” Harry complains, finally settling next to Zayn. Even in the dark, Zayn swears he can _hear_ the pouty face Harry’s making.

“So, this is nice.” Harry says, smiling up at the stars.

“Yeah.” Zayn agrees, voice slightly hoarse. He can feel the warmth of Harry’s arm pressed up against him, feel his fingers itching to thread themselves with Harry’s. Almost sensing this rigidity, Harry reaches out first and pulls Zayn into the crook of his shoulder.

“Stranded at the drive-in, branded a fool, what will they say, Monday at school…” Harry sung huskily.

“I _knew_ you knew what I meant by make-out point.” Zayn mutters, but he snuggles happily into Harry anyway. “Missed you.” He adds, face buried somewhere between Harry’s armpit and nipple.

“I’ve been right here.” Harry says, running a hand over Zayn’s back, grounding him.

“Harry?” Zayn mumbles, pulling back, heart racing so loud he can feel the pulse in his ears. “I just… wanna…”

“Yeah?” Harry breathes, noticing the sudden proximity of Zayn’s face to his own. He can almost count every dark eyelash on – oh, Zayn’s lips are on his, Zayn is kissing him, that’s new. His eyes flutter closed of their own accord and his hand creeps across to stroke Zayn’s jawline, earning a deep, throaty groan in response. Harry releases a shuddering sigh like something snapped within him, the exhale of a breath he didn’t realise he was holding. Zayn takes this as a cue to pull back and Harry whines, wrapping his arms around his neck awkwardly, suddenly conscious of the fact that they’re lying half-horizontal on top of a range rover.

“I just, wanted to do that, just, yeah.” Zayn says. Harry blinks.

“Okay. Do that again, now, please,” Harry pleads, reaching for him. Zayn smiles, shaking his head.

“Nah, no.” He says, sliding off the car carefully and picking up a nearby rock, tossing it in a perfect arc into the water. “Enough now, yeah?” He turns around to pick up another rock and Harry’s suddenly in front of him, grabbing his shoulders, running his hands down Zayn’s arms, somehow sliding him out of his leather jacket.

“Zayn,” he says, and it seems like he’s a foot taller instead of a few inches as Zayn’s peering up at him in the almost blackness. “Zayn, what was that?”

“Nothing,” Zayn says. “It was dumb, forget it. You don’t…” Zayn trails off, doubting himself.

“What if I do?”

“You don’t, though.” Zayn kicks a flurry of stones and sends them ricocheting into the water, ripples distorting the light from the car’s reflections on the water.

“No, no, would you just stop, listen to me,” Harry gabbles. “Remember, on the first day where you let me in, when we saw Sadie, when I was saying goodbye to her, she said to me, “don’t wait too long”, and I spent so long wondering what she meant or if she was talking about laser tattoo removal, but she meant – Zayn, I fucking – I just, I just,” He pauses, tripping over his words, stepping back slightly, squinting at Zayn in the darkness. “Zayn, I think – no, I _know_ , I knew it then, and Sadie knew it, and everyone would know it if they opened their eyes. I’m in love with you.”

Zayn blinks a few times, stunned into silence.

“Fuck.” He says eventually, springing toward Harry like a coiled up wire that’s been pushed down so far that the only option is to burst. He kisses him harder than the time before, urgent and breathy and so so right. Harry’s arms go around his waist and they slot together like puzzle pieces, staggering backwards until Harry’s leant back against the car, hands everywhere.

Out of nowhere, a jarring knock comes from inside the car door, and they spring apart, seeing Niall’s sheepish face peering up at them, blinking his eyes tiredly. He winds the window down.

“Alright lads?” He asks, his voice small, like a child who’s just accidentally found all his Christmas presents. “Something to share?”

“…Niall,”

“It’s fine. It was obvious, weren’t it? I’m just glad you felt comfortable enough with your best friends to tell them. Carry on,” Niall says, his voice strange and pitchy. He closes the window again.

“Fuck’s sake.” Zayn says, suddenly closed off. “Let’s just go home.”

“Home?” Harry repeats feebly.

“Home.” Zayn suddenly softens, reaching out and running his hand across the exact location where Harry’s new tattoo resides below his thin t-shirt before he climbs back into the front seat of the car.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh my god this fic has got so long that I've run out of bloody lyrics from All The Little Lights to put at the start of the chapters :\ but. let's all have a resounding "FINALLY"! God that was a long time coming, started writing this in March and they only just had full on conscious lip-on-lip action. Man you guys are good for sticking with me. So what next? Welllll I think a couple more chapters and an epilogue will tie this up nicely? I kind of never want this one to end, thanks for reading thus far. xx


	12. Chapter 12

“Zayn and Harry are fucking on the reg.” Niall announces to Louis, throwing himself down on the bed.

“We are not!” Harry whines, trotting in behind Niall, Zayn trailing after, rubbing the back of his neck guiltily. Louis snaps his laptop shut and looks straight at Harry.

“Knew it.” He says simply. “Who’s gonna break it to Liam? I vote Niall. I hope he does it just like he told me just now, Liam would definitely, definitely appreciate that.”

“We’re not fucking!”

“Well, not yet.” Niall corrects, rolling off the bed again and sticking his head deeply into the mini-fridge, pulling out a bottle of champagne with a flourish, bright eyes twinkling. “But soon.” Louis regards the three of them with his eyes narrowed.

“Look, I think they’ve got a lot to discuss.” He says quickly. “C’mon, let’s go… find some cups…”

“Don’t you dare christen my bed,” is Niall’s parting shot, and then Harry and Zayn are alone together. Harry perches awkwardly on the edge of the bed, eyes wide as he regards Zayn.

“You alright?” Zayn asks slowly.

“Yeah. You?”

“Yeah.”

“So should we discuss… that… thing that happened?”

“Harry, can you not be all vague and slow speaking just this once?”

“Heyyyyy.” Harry complains half-heartedly, reaching for Zayn. “C’mere.” Zayn obliges, stopping just in front of Harry, his legs between Harry’s thighs. Harry closes his legs the last few inches, trapping Zayn, his hands travelling up to rest in Zayn’s belt loops, pulling him closer. Zayn’s fingers rest in Harry’s hair and he lets out a happy sigh and buries his head somewhere near Zayn’s navel.

“Did you mean it?”

“Mean what?”

“That you’re in love with me.” Zayn says.

“Zayn, I am so ridiculously in love with you that I could cry right now.”

“That’s good.” Zayn mumbles, crouching down in front of Harry. “Because I really fucking love you, as well.”

“You do?” Harry’s face cracks into the biggest smile and Zayn feels like he’s just won the lottery.

“Course I do, you massive twit.” He leans forward and kisses Harry. “So, so, much.” Harry pulls him horizontal on top of him and tangles their limbs, arms holding Zayn so tight it’s almost painful. They lie like that for what feels like eternity, hearts beating hard in their chests. At one point they’re conscious of Louis and Niall bickering outside the door. (“It’s quiet in there…” “You reckon they’re boning?” “Nah, Harry’s a screamer.” “Gross. Wanna get pissed on the roof?” “Go for it.”) Somehow Harry’s shirt gets shelled and Zayn’s doing something filthy with his nipple when they hear a keycard being swiped and they spring apart as the door swings open.

“Oh.” Liam says, slightly confused, shopping bags in his hands. “Niall said we were gonna play Fifa – I’m… what? What?”

Harry smiles crookedly.

“Surprise…?” He says weakly, reaching down the back of the headboard for his t-shirt.

“Sorry, mate.” Zayn says, crossing his arms awkwardly.

“Why are you sorry?” Liam asks sadly. “I don’t want you to be sorry.”

“I just hate that you’re the last to know, again.” Zayn whispers, his voice rough.

“It’s fine.” Liam shrugs it off. “I’m just happy if you two are happy. I’m really sorry. I’m – I’m just gonna go find Niall.” He starts backing away.

“Li, Li, wait –” Harry begs, getting up, pulling his top back on. “Look, everything you’ve done, this thing with Danielle, everything – you have no idea how much it meant to us.”

“So you two are an ‘us’?”

“I guess so,” Harry says, his words meeting with an icy glare from Zayn. “I mean, yes. We’re together.”

“Then I am happy for you two, honestly. If you think I’d resent you – you just – no, guys, no. And I would totally initiate a group hug if it wasn’t for my suspicion that you two had been doing the nasty before I walked in. Look, just – stay happy, yeah? Two more months and we’re home.” With this, Liam bows his head and leaves again, putting his key-card on the top of a counter on the way out. Harry turns back to Zayn.

“We’re together?” He asks again.

“I mean, if you want.”

“Of course I do. It would absolutely kill me to see you dating Colton Haynes.”

“I’ll unfollow him right now.”

“Later, later,” Harry says quickly, crawling back into bed.

* * *

**ZAYN MALIK IN CLINCH WITH MYSTERY BRUNETTE**

Source: The Daily Mail

Newly single pop superstar Zayn Malik of One Direction fame was caught enjoying the Vegas scenery from a balcony with his bandmates and a mystery brunette! Could this be his new squeeze? Many fans and passers by said the two were frequently “kissing, cuddling and dancing” while enjoying drinks in the summer heat yesterday evening. Don’t believe Malik could move on from long term girlfriend Perrie Edwards so soon? Check out these pictures a fan snapped! Who could she be? One thing’s for sure, she’ll want to avoid social media for a while!

Comments (248) Highest Rated:

 **Jessica Clarke** : Daily Mail? More like Daily Fail! That’s Harry Styles, surely? He has that exact shirt and he’s wearing a freaking bandana. You truly will say anything to avoid the blindingly obvious truth won’t you?

 **Sapphie2042** : HAHAHHA THAT’S HARRY STYLES WHAT THE FUCK DO SOME RESEARCH

 **Mark Thompson** : That bird has got a cracking pair of legs. Get in there my son.

* *

“What the fuck?” Zayn shoots up in bed that night after hearing his phone buzzing from across the room. “It’s like, 4am.” Harry reaches for him with one arm and pulls a pillow over his ears with the other.

“Just ignore it.” He mumbles, half asleep.

“I can’t,” Zayn says, mournfully peeling himself away from Harry, who almost instantly returns to dreamland. He stumbles across the room to pick up his phone, answering the call when he sees it’s from Louis.

His consequent laughing is loud enough to wake Harry up properly.

“What, what?” Harry demands. Zayn picks up Harry’s phone and tosses it across the bed in lieu of an answer. Harry picks it up as though it’s a bomb, and sees his mother (among others) has sent him an article from the Daily Mail. His mum hates the Daily Mail. He opens it with a shaking finger.

“They think I’m your new _girlfriend_?” Harry splutters, hand on his chest in mock offense. “Oh my god. What is Twitter saying? What is LOUIS saying to you?”

“Just reading some of the best tweets aloud. Oh god, this is not how I wanted to come out. Should we tweet?”

“Tweet what?” Harry says, a smile creeping across his face, now that the absurdity has faded.

“Selfie.”

They take a picture in bed together, heads resting on each other. Zayn tweets it with the caption “in love with my new squeeze #mysterybrunette” and turns off his phone, tossing it across the room.

The next morning, the bottom drops out of the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh dear god I'm so sorry about the wait. ONE MORE CHAPTER (AND MAYBE AN EPILOGUE) TO GO. C'MON GUYS MOTIVATE ME. Thanks for reading. xx


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